


To The Brink

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Oral Sex, Recovery, Redemption, Rough Sex, Sex for Money, Suicide Attempt, Swimming Pools, Tasteless Garden Ornaments, abusive sex, rebuilding relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is a bored, stay-at-home husband with a drink problem and a wife who despises him. Their new pool boy Porthos is a welcome distraction from the tedium of his days, but Athos' attentions aren't necessarily welcomed and things will get worse before they get better. A lot worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not tagging this as non-con because that's not how it's intended, but be aware it does have some fairly unpleasant and brutal sex in the first half, and also an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt.

Athos wandered into the dining room wondering if it was technically too early for a drink. He'd been hoping it was at least eleven o'clock, which was surely a respectable time for a pre-lunch aperitif, but the clock told him it was still only half ten, and he sighed. He'd been hoping to take the edge off his hangover, but it was a bit close to breakfast time and the awkward associations of alcoholism that raised.

He wondered idly if he _was_ becoming an alcoholic, but decided his life wasn't nearly exciting enough to warrant something so dramatic. Maybe he should, he thought. It would give him something to do, and have the added advantage of annoying his wife. Give her something genuine to criticise him for, for once.

A movement outside the window made him jump, before realising it was probably only d'Artagnan the pool-boy. The silhouette looked the wrong shape though, and Athos drifted closer to the patio doors, shading his eyes as the morning sun tried to pierce the back of his skull.

The man walking around the edge of the pool was certainly not d'Artagnan, although he appeared to be doing his job. Athos wondered briefly if d'Artagnan had been taken ill before certain buried information struggled to the top of his sluggish brain. He distantly recalled his wife saying something about having fired d'Artagnan a few days ago. He hadn't taken much notice at the time, being on course to beat his own personal best time for reaching the bottom of a whisky bottle, but presumably this was whoever she'd hired in d'Artagnan's place.

It struck him as vaguely odd; she didn't normally interfere with the running of the house unless she considered he'd made a particular hash of something. Had he? He didn't think so, in this case. D'Artagnan had been a conscientious worker, and pleasant enough.

Thinking back though, there had been a certain shiftiness about him the last couple of times Athos had given him his money. A distinct unwillingness to look him in the eye.

Athos sighed, coming to the inevitable if belated conclusion that d'Artagnan had probably been banging his wife. Presumably she'd got bored with him. Athos gave a mirthless smile, thinking she probably wished she could get rid of him so easily. He found he bore the lad no ill-will. It wasn't as if he was getting to sleep with her himself after all, she'd insisted on separate bedrooms for at least a year now.

Maybe it was gin time after all, Athos thought gloomily. He made his way to the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure, adding a splash of tonic in deference to the early hour. 

He watched the new pool-boy as he drank. Man, rather than boy he corrected, taking in the well-built physique. Dark skin, close-cropped hair and just the suggestion of a beard. A tattoo scrolled up one well muscled arm, and Athos caught the glint of a gold earring. He wondered bleakly how long it would be before Anne was screwing this one. 

Although, maybe not. He wasn't quite her usual type. If Athos was honest he wouldn't have minded a crack at the man himself. He smiled faintly. Why should she have all the fun?

Outside the man looked up and caught Athos watching him with a start of surprise. Athos' first instinct was to duck back into the shadows of the room with embarrassment, then frowned at himself crossly. It was his house, after all.

He slid the glass doors open, wishing briefly that he'd put on a clean shirt this morning as opposed to the one he'd dropped on the bedroom floor last night.

"Hello," he offered. "I'm Athos. You must be the new pool-man." Immediately wincing at the inanity of what he'd just said.

The man looked from Athos to the leaf-net in his hand, and back. "Well if I've come to cut your grass I'd appear to be doing it wrong." He winced in turn, presumably realising cheeking his employer on his first morning at work wasn't the smartest behaviour. "Sorry, yeah, I'm Porthos. I guess I spoke to your - wife?" Sounding dubious, as if hardly able to credit such a smart, crisp, together woman might be married to a crumpled, unshaven mess like this.

Athos saw Porthos' eyes go to the glass in his hand, and wished he'd left it inside.

"Yes. Yes, you would have. Um. Well, I'll let you get on. Have you found everything okay? Let me know if there's anything you need."

"Yeah. Thanks." Porthos nodded, clearly waiting for Athos to fuck off again. Athos duly retreated, feeling unaccountably flustered. He freshened his drink and went upstairs, watching from behind a net curtain as Porthos went about his tasks. He definitely had one of the best bodies Athos had seen outside a porn film, and he found himself wishing Porthos' shorts were just a smidgen shorter. And tighter. 

Athos wondered if it would look too weird to instigate an employee dress code, and drained his glass with a smirk. 

Shedding his clothes with a careless disregard for anyone who might venture indoors, he walked into the bathroom and took a shower, summoning up a vivid fantasy of Porthos walking in on him and taking violent advantage.

He remained disappointingly uninterrupted, but the mental images were at least sufficient to give him the best orgasm he'd managed in months.

Athos rinsed his come off the dark blue tiles, feeling faintly seedy. By the time he'd dried himself and dressed in a clean set of clothes, he found Porthos had already gone. 

\--

Athos found he looked forward to Porthos' visits. As a writer he rarely left the house and his wife worked long hours at a laboratory, sometimes not bothering to come home at all. He would sit at his desk in the ground floor study and watch Porthos through the window, getting absolutely nothing written but increasing his stock of lurid daydreams by the minute.

Summer was in full swing and Porthos frequently wore little more than shorts and a vest, wandering around barefoot on the warm paving and occasionally chugging from a flask of what looked like some hideous health drink.

One morning proved to be particularly memorable when Porthos removed his top entirely, and Athos found himself shamelessly moving rooms to keep him in sight.

The embarrassing coda to this came when Porthos knocked at the kitchen door to collect his money for the week. Athos was in the middle of making a jug of Bloody Mary, considering celery and tomato juice to be much more his idea of a health drink, especially when you factored in half a bottle of vodka.

"Porthos, hello. Fancy a drink?" Athos offered hopefully, waving the jug at him.

Porthos looked at the almost empty vodka bottle and frowned.

"No thanks. Bit early for me."

Athos shrugged off the implied criticism and hunted for his wallet. "Usual hours?"

"Yeah." Porthos shuffled his feet awkwardly, and seemed to be working his way up to saying something.

Athos looked enquiringly at him. "Everything okay?"

Porthos took a deep breath. "That's - kind've what I was going to ask you. Is my work okay? I’m doing everything to your satisfaction? There's nothing I'm missing, or doing wrong?"

Athos blinked at him in surprise. "No, not at all. You're excellent."

"Right." Porthos nodded, but still looked like there was something on his mind. "It's just - you keep watching me."

"What?" Athos could feel himself blushing and wished the ground would open up and swallow him. He'd been discreet in his voyeurism. Hadn't he?

"I mean - every time I look up, there you are," Porthos continued, looking embarrassed but also slightly angry. "Do you think I'm going to nick your hideous garden ornaments or something?"

"What? No!" Athos felt sick, wondering which was worse, to be caught out as a creepy perve, or for Porthos to think it was because he didn't trust him. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't realise I'd been so - " _visible_ , his mind supplied. "I tend to stare out the window a lot when I'm writing," he said quickly. "I wasn't necessarily looking at you in particular."

Porthos looked at him sceptically and Athos remembered he'd just spent the morning moving from room to room to keep him in view. 

"Yeah. Right," Porthos said flatly, although he at least seemed willing to drop the matter. 

Athos slipped an extra fifty into his wages and Porthos looked up in surprise. 

"What's this for?"

"I've clearly made you uncomfortable," Athos said. "I honestly didn't mean to. I wasn't keeping an eye on you, I swear. I was just - well - looking. I won't do it any more."

Porthos gave a startled laugh. "Well. For fifty quid I guess you can look all you want." He gave Athos an up and down glance that suggested he was reappraising his motives, and sniffed. "See you next week, huh."

He went out and Athos subsided onto a kitchen stool, feeling dizzy. He banged his head lightly on the worktop a few times then emptied the rest of the vodka into the jug.

\--

The next time Porthos turned up, at first Athos kept well away from the windows. He couldn't resist a peek though, and discovered that Porthos was wearing the tightest t-shirt imaginable. 

Feeling like a particularly seedy spy, Athos flattened himself against the wall and watched as Porthos paraded up and down outside. Finally deciding that this was ridiculous and that he had every right to go anywhere he wanted, Athos moved outside to sit at the patio table. He took his notebook with him and, in deference to Porthos' sharp eyes, a cafetiere of coffee.

Porthos looked up as he came out and Athos raised a hand in greeting. Porthos nodded, but seemed disinclined towards conversation, busying himself with the routine maintenance. He was done all too quickly for Athos' liking, and hating himself, he beckoned Porthos over as he was about to leave.

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in taking anything else on would you?" Athos asked. "Our gardener retired last month," he added quickly, seeing Porthos' wary look, "and I just thought I'd see if you were interested, before advertising."

Porthos was tempted; he could certainly do with the extra money, but honesty compelled him to hesitate. "I don't know much about plants," he admitted.

Athos shook his head. "As you can see it's mostly lawn and shrubs. It'd just be mowing and pruning really, keeping it tidy. I don't know much either, I'm really not going to complain if you accidentally kill something."

Porthos laughed at that, and Athos' stomach gave a corresponding leap. It certainly made a welcome change from Porthos glowering at him suspiciously.

"Alright. Make a start then shall I? That grass could do with a cut soon or it's not a lawn mower you'll need, it's a goat."

Athos readily agreed, and after a brief negotiation on wages, where he agreed to the first figure Porthos named, he settled back to watch the show.

He wondered distantly how much Porthos hated him, sitting back like this and watching him undertake hard labour, seemingly too idle and lazy to do it himself. Then Porthos took off his shirt and wiped himself down with it, and it was all Athos could do not to fall off his chair.

\--

For the next few days Porthos returned each morning, seemingly pleased with his new role and getting quite into it, familiarising himself with the various plants and shrubs. He gradually returned the garden to a semblance of neatness, reclaiming its sweeping lines and rescuing a host of flowering bushes from the chokehold of bindweed and brambles.

Every morning Athos would take up his seat on the patio, and most mornings he would be rewarded by the removal, at some point, of Porthos' shirt. He'd get too hot and hang it from a branch, or inadvertently walk through the lawn sprinkler and have to dry it off. The reasons were various, but all appreciated.

Every time, Porthos would casually glance towards the patio just in time to see Athos look hastily away, and snort to himself. He'd worked out exactly why Athos was watching him so avidly.

He'd felt exposed at first, and a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but Athos had never done anything more forward than look at him and eventually Porthos had figured fuck it, if the poor bastard wanted a show, why not? 

He'd only seen the wife once since she hired him and to be perfectly frank, although he liked beautiful women very much, there was something about her that made his balls want to shrivel up and hide. Athos must have had something going for him to have married her in the first place Porthos mused, although he seemed rather neutered now.

Porthos felt a bit sorry for him if he was honest, although not so much that he was going to get drawn into any awkwardness. Athos had tentatively asked him if he'd like to join him for coffee a couple of times but Porthos had always declined, relieved when Athos had accepted his refusals graciously. Porthos had never been into men and he didn't intend to start now - especially not with a married one whose wife looked like she castrated bulls for fun.

At the end of the week there was yet another fifty that he hadn't earned. He looked at Athos, but said nothing. Athos met his gaze, but said nothing either, and the implication hung silently in the air between them. _For looking._

Porthos wondered if accepting the money made him feel like a tart, then figured that turning down money for doing nothing, based on principles he didn't have was daft. He took it with a curt nod, and Athos visibly relaxed.

\--

The following Monday it rained. Athos viewed the weather with disfavour, convinced Porthos wouldn't come, but sure enough he turned up right on time. Standing in the study window, Athos allowed himself a small sigh of regret at the fact Porthos was bundled up in a waterproof, but was pleased enough to be able to watch him bustling about after all.

After a while, Porthos cast a surreptitious glance up at the house to make sure he was being watched, then peeled off his waterproof and hung it on the door of the shed. The rain made it too cold to take off his sweatshirt as well, but he figured Athos wouldn't complain about the way the thin wool was soon plastered against his torso.

Probably wasn't the only thing plastered round here Porthos thought with a pitying smirk. Athos was obviously a heavy drinker, although to be fair to the man he never actually appeared to be drunk. 

Raindrops were dripping down his neck now, and Porthos shivered. He should probably put his coat back on. Why was he giving a strip show to a man he didn't fancy anyway - barely even liked? He decided it was the money Athos kept slipping him. Asked for or not, overt arrangement or not, if he was happy to take the man's money he owed him something in return. And this was harmless enough. Assuming he didn't freeze his balls off, anyway.

"Porthos!" 

Lost in a reverie, Porthos looked up to find Athos standing in the kitchen doorway holding a towel. 

"Come inside for God's sake, you'll catch your death!"

Porthos realised with some surprise that the light shower had become a downpour, and after a moment's hesitation he ran for the shelter of the house.

"Here." Athos handed him the towel and closed the door. Porthos shot it a nervous look, then told himself not to be so silly. It wasn't locked, and he could surely handle Athos. He smirked, surmising that Athos wouldn't object to being handled in the slightest.

"Get this down you. You must be frozen." Athos offered him a mug, and Porthos stared at him for a second before accepting it.

"It's only tea, I promise," said Athos with a faint smile. "Do you take sugar?"

"No, thanks." Porthos shook himself, suddenly realising he was being as judgemental as he'd originally accused Athos of being. "Sorry," he added vaguely, and was relieved when Athos didn't ask what for. "This is kind of you."

"Hardly want to see you come down with pneumonia," Athos murmured, wrapping his hands around a second mug and retreating a safe distance to perch on a bar stool.

Porthos towelled his hair vigorously, then took a cautious sip from his mug. He'd harboured suspicions it would be some poncy blend, but it was good strong builder's tea and he hummed approval, sending Athos another mental apology. 

"This is good, thanks," he said awkwardly.

Athos just smiled in return, and Porthos realised Athos didn't have any more idea what to say than he did.

"Not really gardening weather," Porthos ventured, and Athos nodded agreement.

"Didn't expect to see you today to be honest," Athos murmured. "It was a nice surprise." 

Porthos looked sideways at him in time to catch the wide-eyed look of guilty alarm as Athos realised what he'd just said. He carefully blew on his tea, trying to resist the temptation to say anything, but in the end, he couldn't resist it.

"Yeah, well. Got to give you your money's worth."

Athos went pale. As far as gardening and pool maintenance went Porthos was paid for whatever hours he worked, and there was only one thing he could be referring to.

"Oh God," he breathed. "I'm sorry." Looking as guilty as if he'd been caught with his cock out. "What must you think of me?"

Porthos shrugged. "You want to pay good money for me to walk around with my top off it's no skin off my nose."

Athos looked stricken, and Porthos decided it was clearly time to make his escape. "Thanks for the tea and the towel," he said, putting down his half-finished mug. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Mmn," Athos agreed weakly, both relieved and disappointed by his rapid exit.

\--

For a while their pattern resumed as before. The hot weather came back, and Porthos' shirt fell off with clockwork regularity. Athos worked from the patio, watching him with a certain shamelessness now and looking marginally happier, presumably now that Porthos was aware what he was doing and didn't seem to object.

To Porthos' relief Athos still made no move to suggest anything more intimate, and he wondered if watching was all Athos was capable of.

He'd always assumed the notebooks were just a prop, but recently he'd noticed Athos was writing more and watching him less. Porthos wondered uneasily if he featured in this prose, and whether Athos was occupied in writing lurid pornography. Being an artist's muse was a dubious honour, when you weren't sure of the content.

Athos had said he was a writer, but Porthos had googled him to no avail. Maybe he had a pen-name, or was simply unpublished. Or it was all just a front after all.

Athos had been particularly oblivious to his presence that morning, and Porthos realised he actually felt annoyed. It had dawned on him one day that he could tell when Athos was genuinely writing because he put his glasses on, and he was wearing them now, head propped in one hand, scribbling furiously.

Porthos, shirtless, wandered over to him, perversely wanting a reaction.

"Morning."

Athos looked up in some surprise, given that Porthos hardly ever voluntarily started a conversation. He pushed his glasses up on top of his head and smiled, and Porthos experienced a twinge of guilt. It wasn't the leer of a man staring at his bare chest, it was a genuine moment of pleasure that he'd initiated contact, and Porthos wondered how he seemed to Athos. Cold? Standoffish? Athos didn't seem to have any friends. Was he lonely?

"Hello." Athos leaned back in his chair. "Did you want me?" A polite enquiry rather than intentionally suggestive, but Athos coloured anyway, as he realised what he'd said. Athos' blushes were a source of constant amusement to Porthos.

"Yeah, I've got some cuttings I've rooted, and I wondered where you'd like them."

More blushing, and Athos stood up, clearing his throat. "Where did you have in mind?" Trying not to stare at Porthos' chest now, and failing.

Porthos pointed out a couple of options, explaining his plan to create a windbreak to shelter a section of the lawn. Athos agreed immediately, offering him whatever money he wanted to go and buy any more mature plants he might want to start it off with.

They were standing by the pool, and Athos ran his hand through his hair, completely forgetting his glasses were perched in it. They slipped out and he made a desperate grab, knocking them away from certain disaster on the hard paving, but sending them spinning into the water.

"Oh fuck," Athos muttered, and Porthos laughed. Swearing in an upper class accent was somehow infinitely funnier than from anyone else. 

"I'll get 'em," he offered, given that he was already only clad in shorts and underwear, while Athos was fully dressed.

He kicked off his deck shoes and pulled down his shorts, hoping as he did so that he wasn't giving Athos a heart attack, before diving smoothly into the water. He'd tended this pool for a good couple of months now and it was nice to finally get a dip, however brief.

He reached the bottom easily and in a couple of strokes had grabbed Athos' glasses, shooting back to the surface and hauling himself out again.

"Here you go." He held out the glasses before noticing that Athos seemed to be frozen rigid, and speechless. Porthos looked down and realised his sopping wet boxers were leaving exactly nothing to the imagination. He snorted with laughter. 

"Oops. Good thing there's no kids about," Porthos grinned, before suddenly wondering if this might have been an unpleasantly tactless thing to say. Fortunately Athos didn't seem bothered by it, remaining entirely transfixed by Porthos' package.

"Could I, um, borrow a towel?" Porthos asked.

Athos, with a considerable effort, dragged his eyes up to Porthos' face. "Yes," he managed, although it came out as more of a gasp. "Yes, of course, sorry. Come in." He lead Porthos into the kitchen and found him a towel from a pile of fresh laundry.

"Thanks." Porthos looked at him assessingly for a second, then made up his mind and peeled off his soaking boxers there and then, standing naked in the middle of the kitchen and nonchalantly towelling himself dry. 

He'd have thought nothing of doing this at the gym after all, he told himself. It was only slightly weirder doing it in a posh bloke's kitchen.

Okay, a lot weirder.

Porthos pulled his dry shorts back on and zipped them up, wondering if it was poor etiquette to wring out your wet pants in someone else's sink. A glance at Athos suggested he was utterly beyond coherent speech, so Porthos just handed him the damp towel, winked at him, and left.

\--

Porthos was dreaming. He was dreaming, to be specific, about Athos. They were in his kitchen and Athos was bent over his stupid marble worktop, expensive trousers round his ankles. Porthos was pounding into him for all he was worth, one hand fisted in Athos' hair, one working Athos' cock, and Porthos was so hard it almost hurt. There was an anger to it, a desperation that made it all the more intense, and Porthos had no idea how they'd got there, only that if he didn't come soon he'd scream. 

Athos was making breathy little whimpering noises and Porthos couldn't tell if it was in arousal or protest, but suddenly Athos was clenching around him and there was a warm splash of come over his hand. Porthos swore, feeling his own climax overtake him without warning. He seized Athos tightly by the hips, pinning him in place and spilling into him, pumping load after load into his shuddering body. 

Porthos staggered back, gasping for breath, watching his own come dribbling down Athos' thighs. You should have used a condom, said part of his brain and he frowned, the nagging worry tugging at his consciousness. He tried to call out to Athos, but his voice wouldn't work, and had they been in the pool, because his shirt was somehow all wet?

\--

Porthos woke up with a sharp intake of breath, heart thumping in horrified confusion. What the hell? What the everliving fuck was his sub-conscious thinking of, giving him a dream like that? He didn't like Athos in that way, didn't like _any_ men in that way. He'd never dreamt about fucking another man before in his life. 

He suddenly discovered that the bottom of his t-shirt was soaked with spunk and groaned in disgust. Not only had he dreamt about the bastard, it had been a wet dream to boot. He hadn't come in his sleep since he was a horny teenager.

Porthos peeled off the offending item and balled it up, wiping his sticky skin with the dry part and hurling it across the room in the vague direction of the laundry basket. He should get Athos to wash it for him, he thought viciously. Be a good little house-husband and see to his chores. Better that than seeing to Porthos.

He let his head sink back into the pillow, groaning. Images of himself servicing Athos kept floating in front of his mind's eye, and he twisted about irritably. He did not fancy Athos. He did not want to fuck Athos. He didn't even fucking _like_ Athos. What goddamn right did Athos have to invade his dreams like this, fucking weirdo, always fucking watching him. 

Porthos turned over onto his stomach, trying to block out the certain knowledge that he'd been playing up to and encouraging Athos' voyeurism and growling in uncomfortable confusion. He felt betrayed by his own body and irrationally angry with Athos. Finding he'd rolled into another wet patch, did not help his mood in the slightest.

\--

Porthos was still angry the next morning, and defensively covered up in bulky long-sleeved layers, which meant by the time he'd cut the front lawn and seen to the pool filter he was sweating unpleasantly and twice as cross as he'd been to start with.

He yanked his hoodie off over his head, gasping with relief, then caught sight of Athos watching him though the kitchen window. Something inside him snapped, and he marched across and shoved the door open.

"Good morning." Oblivious to Porthos' seething mood, Athos was still high on the teasing display of the previous day and smiled at him accordingly. Porthos hesitated, one tiny rational corner of his brain still holding him back in the knowledge that Athos was hardly to blame for his dreams - but then Athos' next words made a hot cloud of rage descend again.

"I meant to say - if you'd like to use the pool at all yourself, please do," Athos offered. "You work so hard on it, you might as well reap some of the benefits." He smiled hopefully, faltering after a second as he took in Porthos' expression.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Porthos said dangerously. 

Athos blinked at him, taken aback and for a second lost for a response. 

"What were you thinking, get me all wet again, for your daily entertainment?" Porthos continued. "Get your rocks off between bottles of gin?"

"What? No, I - " Athos took a step backwards, feeling unfairly accused. He had honestly only meant it as a generous gesture, he knew he didn't use it much himself, and Anne tended to only use it for swimming hard lengths first thing in the morning before the rest of the world was awake. 

"Do you at least wait until I've gone? Cock out before I've cleared the drive, I'm guessing." Porthos demanded, stalking towards him. 

"Porthos - no - " Athos protested weakly, knowing it was all too true but hideously ashamed that Porthos might realise it. He couldn't understand what had changed since yesterday, but felt too guilty to defend himself. 

"Oh, you don't get off on it then, watching me?" Porthos took another angry step forward and Athos backed away, hitting the counter with a jolt and realising he was trapped. Wondering distantly if Porthos was going to hit him.

"I'm guessing that towel didn't make it straight into the laundry," Porthos said, lip curling in revulsion. "Did it? Probably wanked yourself silly over it didn't you?" Taking Athos' crimson face as confirmation. "You're disgusting, do you know that? Does your wife know what you do?" 

Athos' face drained from bright red to deathly pale. "My wife doesn't give a flying fuck what I do," he said tightly.

"Not surprised. Don't imagine you could keep a woman like that satisfied for one minute. You're pathetic."

By this point they were face to face, so close they could feel each other's laboured breathing, staring at each other as if transfixed. Porthos felt like he was watching himself from a distance, horrified, but equally unable to stop.

Shaking, Athos raised a hand and pointed at the door. "Get the fuck out of my house," he said hoarsely. "And don't fucking come back."

Porthos glared at him for a second longer, then spun on his heel and marched out. Athos crumpled against the worktop, shaking and gasping for breath, feeling like he'd been beaten half to death, despite the fact Porthos hadn't so much as laid a finger on him.

He choked back a sob, hating himself for the realisation that he was more upset about losing Porthos than the confrontation itself. He blamed himself, utterly, and was miserably guilt stricken at the thought he'd forced Porthos out of a job by spying on him and making unwanted sexual advances.

With trembling hands he unscrewed the bottle of vodka on the counter, took a mouthful, and swallowed hard. Set his shoulders and followed Porthos out of the door.

Porthos had headed for the shed, intent on collecting his few possessions and leaving immediately. Inside, he'd sagged against the potting bench and put his head in his hands. What had he been thinking? None of his pent up rage had been Athos' fault, it had all been self-disgust. Athos had just been an easy and unfortunate target. 

The anger boiling under his skin had left him restless and frustrated, and he prickled uneasily with the knowledge of just how thin the line had been between violence and arousal. Seeing Athos standing in exactly the place he'd fucked him in his dreams had left Porthos with some very mixed signals going between his brain and his groin, and he wasn't sure if he'd been a second away from hitting Athos or kissing him.

Fragmented pieces of dream with the unsettling clarity of real memories kept bombarding him, and Porthos found to his shame and distress that he was getting an erection. 

It was at this point that the door scraped open and Athos came in.

They stood there staring at each other, for a second neither knowing what to say. Both wanting to apologise, whilst simultaneously wanting the other to apologise, and equally knowing that was unreasonable. 

Porthos blurted the first thing that came into his head.

"A hundred quid and I'll let you suck me off."

For a second Athos just stared at him in frozen shock. It had hardly been the response he was expecting, and part of him couldn't believe it was a serious offer, that Porthos must surely just be cruelly taunting him, wanting to prove Athos was as desperate as he looked. But then his eyes flickered down to Porthos' crotch, and made out the unmistakeable swell of a hard cock.

"Deal." He heard himself say it as if from a long way off, his voice scratchy and not sounding like his own.

Porthos swallowed nervously. He hadn't really expected Athos to accept, it was a ridiculous amount of money, even if the offer had been the other way round. He could still back out. He could laugh, sneer, leave with his masculine pride if not intact then at least not in tatters.

On the other hand, if he stayed, he got a blow job and a hundred quid. 

From a man, his brain reminded him. From a mouth, he countered. Apart from Athos' beard, what was the difference, really? 

Athos was watching him warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop, clearly more than half expecting Porthos to laugh at him and tell him again he was pathetic. Instead, Porthos gave him a jerky nod, and started unfastening his jeans.

Athos came forward, hesitant at first, but his eyes fixed on where Porthos' hands were drawing his cock out of his boxers. Athos thumped to his knees in front of him with an impact that must have hurt, but he didn't complain.

Porthos was fully hard by now, excited despite himself by the look on Athos' face as much as anything else. He considered slapping his cock across Athos' cheek just to let him know where he stood, but Athos was already leaning in with a willingness that took Porthos by surprise.

He'd expected Athos to be awkward, tentative, inexperienced. He wasn't. He took Porthos into his mouth with a sigh of something like appreciative wonder, and sucked him down into soft warmth. Porthos had let out a groan before he could stop himself. Athos' tongue was curling around his cock, his lips sliding over the skin as he moved his head rhythmically up and down.

Athos hadn't liked to touch Porthos with his hands, hadn't been told he could, and so left them braced on his own knees, doing everything with his mouth. Porthos, for a while, was in blissful heaven until it suddenly came back to him what he was doing. 

He looked down at Athos' industriously bobbing head and experienced a shiver of self-loathing at what he was letting him do, and how much he was enjoying it. It kindled into anger, and Porthos sank his hands into Athos' hair, twisting cruelly. Athos made a pained noise in his throat but his mouth didn't miss a beat, still working Porthos with hollowed cheeks and a talented tongue.

Porthos took a fiercer hold of him and started thrusting into Athos' mouth with a selfish determination, taking every ounce of control away from him and sawing between his lips. Athos half-choked, but somehow recovered himself and then just let Porthos do as he wanted, bracing himself against the onslaught but not trying to pull away. Passive, he let Porthos use his mouth without complaint or struggle and somehow that made Porthos even angrier.

He rammed his cock as far down Athos' throat as he could physically make him take it, over and over, ignoring the tears of exertion on Athos' cheeks, until finally he came with a roar, spilling into Athos' mouth and over his chin.

Athos swallowed convulsively, before collapsing in a heap on the floor of the shed as soon as Porthos released him. He was coughing and struggling for breath, the tang of blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten his own lip, and hating what a detestable picture he must make to Porthos.

Porthos, for his part, zipped himself up and stepped back, appalled at what he'd done.

"You alright?" he asked gruffly, as Athos seemed to be having difficulty pulling himself together.

Athos nodded, too shaken to speak, and Porthos grunted, walking past him and out of the door. He couldn't bear to stay any longer, couldn't bear to look at Athos in that state, knowing that he'd done it to him. He felt hot and dirty, and gulped in the fresh air thankfully. Beside him the pool glimmered invitingly, and Porthos figured why the fuck not?

In the shed, Athos slumped back against the table leg, hands fumbling desperately with his flies. He was reasonably sure Porthos wouldn't come back in - wasn't entirely certain he would come back ever - or he wouldn't have dared do this, but on the other hand he felt that if he didn't touch himself in the next ten seconds he would die. 

He buried his hand in his pants, closing his fingers around his rigid cock and squeezing, stroking, tugging to the sound of his sobbing breath. He came in seconds, shooting over his hand, his trousers and the wooden floor, before curling into a miserable ball of self-hatred and crying silently for several long agonised minutes.

Eventually, he pulled himself together again. He had to, there was no one else to do it for him, never had been. His whole life had been a lesson in teaching him that no one else was going to look out for him, or care what he did. So he dried his eyes and wiped his face, cleaned himself up and adjusted his clothes. Made sure there were no traces of what had happened left in the shed, and took a steadying breath.

Outside, it was a shock to find Porthos doing lengths in the pool. Athos hurried past into the house, head down and not looking at him. He wasn't sure that Porthos had even seen him. 

Inside, Athos poured himself a large drink and took it into the shower, letting the hot water wash away some of the shock along with the more physical traces. He felt calmer now, steadier, the burn of the alcohol on his abused throat a welcome penance.

He dressed and went to sit in the study, carefully not looking out of the window. After a while the splashing stopped, and he guessed Porthos had finally stopped his furious swimming. Athos tensed a little, wondering if he would come in search of him, or if he would just expect the money to be added to his wages.

Even though he'd been half expecting it, the tap at the door still made Athos jump.

"Porthos." It was the first time he'd spoken aloud and he was embarrassed by how raspy his voice was. 

Porthos was hesitating in the doorway, and to Athos' relief no longer looked angry. In fact he looked thoroughly ashamed, and Athos felt a pang of guilt, that he'd perhaps driven him to do something he didn't really want to.

"Here." Athos held out two fifties, and Porthos looked almost startled.

"Actually, I - I came to apologise," Porthos said in a low voice. He'd spent almost an hour thrashing out his tangled emotions in hard physical exercise, and had come to the conclusion that he was appalled at his own behaviour. He'd always thought of himself as a reasonably nice person, but he'd come to the inescapable conclusion that what he'd done to Athos came so close to assault as to make him feel sick.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Athos said, not meeting his eyes. "If either of us should apologise, it's me." 

"No." Porthos shook his head stubbornly, and Athos finally looked up at him in slight surprise.

Porthos hesitated. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

Athos flushed and dropped his gaze again. "No. It's fine." He held out the money in a hand that shook slightly. "Please, take it. You earned it."

Porthos finally took the notes and tucked them into his pocket. Athos let out a shuddering breath of relief, and nodded slightly. "Thank you."

"I guess I'll - see you tomorrow then?" Porthos ventured, not entirely sure if he still had a job or not. But Athos glanced up at that, and nodded, and Porthos relaxed a fraction.

"Right. Good. Yeah." He nodded back, awkward and fidgety. "Bye then."

He walked out, while behind him Athos blankly poured himself another drink.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

That weekend Porthos hooked up with an old flame. He felt the need to work out some of the confusion he was feeling, particularly having somehow ended up with his dick in another man's mouth. 

For a couple of years he and Flea had been a serious item, but had slowly come to recognise it wasn't what either of them wanted, long term. They'd remained on a footing of friends with benefits, and Porthos had been confident she would give him the uncomplicated, baggage-free fuck he was craving right now.

"So, what's on your mind?"

They were lying, post-coital, in Porthos' bed, Flea drawing lazy patterns on his bare chest with her fingers. He turned his head to look at her.

"Should there be something?" he asked warily. He'd tried his best to concentrate, but somehow images of Athos kept sneaking through. Athos in his dream, bent over the counter. Athos on his knees. Athos covered in Porthos' spunk, tears in his eyes, trying to hide a raging hard on. Dear God, what was the matter with him?

Flea eyed him with a knowing expression. "I don't hear from you for months, then you turn up looking for a fuck? Something's up. If I didn't know better I'd say you just got dumped."

Porthos shook his head. "Nah, nothing like that."

"What then?" 

"Nothing." He sighed, restless. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Flea raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Would you ever sleep with another woman?"

Flea snorted. "If this is you asking me for a skeevy threesome, the answer's no."

Porthos grinned. "Actually it's not. Would you though?"

She looked sideways at him. "That question assumes I haven't already."

"Have you?" He looked surprised, and she smirked.

"Maybe. You don't know all my secrets." She lay back, hands sliding down over her breasts and stomach, disappearing under the covers. "So who is he?"

"What?" Porthos' head snapped round so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "Who's who?"

Flea looked amused. "Your line of questioning wasn't exactly subtle. If it's not a threesome you're after I can only conclude you're having a big gay freakout about someone."

"No." Porthos looked cross. "No way."

"If you say so." She sighed. "Either way your head's not in the game."

"What do you mean?" He frowned at her, put out at the implied slur on his performance. "Made you come didn't I?"

Her silence was eloquent, as was the tilt of the head and moue of the lips. Porthos gave a frustrated growl.

" _Flea!_ Why didn't you say?" He sighed. "I'm sorry. C'mere." 

He drew her back into his arms, kissing her softly and letting his hand move down between her legs. 

She let her eyes flutter closed, relaxing into his familiar touch, two fingers dipping and sliding, the slow and sure rub of a thumb, and she arched her back, building steadily towards the climax that had previously escaped her.

"I hope he knows how lucky he is," she teased, lying pliant and satisfied in his arms afterwards. Porthos smiled awkwardly, and reflected that it was probably him who was lucky, in that Athos hadn't just called the police on him.

\--

On Monday Porthos didn't see Athos at all. He went about his tasks with half an eye on the house, but no figures appeared at any of the windows, and he never really had the feeling of being watched. He wondered if Athos was avoiding him, and felt guilty. Part of him wondered whether to knock on the door and see if everything was alright, but he had nothing to bring up as an excuse, and it would have been too awkward.

The weather continued unbroken, and the following day Porthos decided to take advantage of the pool once more, ploughing out several lengths in the morning sunshine prior to starting work. Propped against the side, wiping water from his eyes, he suddenly became aware of a pair of feet standing in front of him. 

Beautifully painted toenails in a pair of spike heels suggested that it wasn't Athos, unless there was a side to him previously unsuspected. Porthos looked up to find Anne staring down at him with the kind of expression she might have reserved for something unpleasant on her shoe.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded, as Porthos hauled himself out, wrapping a towel round himself hastily and stammering apologies. "How dare you?"

"I said he could use it."

Athos' lazy drawl cut across Porthos' flustered explanations, and they both turned to find him leaning in the kitchen doorway. He had a glass of clear liquid in his hand, and Anne abandoned Porthos in search of more satisfying prey.

"You're drunk," she accused him icily. Porthos felt a spike of protectiveness, given that Athos had come to his rescue when he needn't have, but Athos seemed entirely unmoved by his wife's accusation.

"And you're a bitch," he replied amiably. "Whereas - "

Anne gave him a scathing look, brushing off the implied insult Athos had left hanging. "I think we both know, in the morning you'll _still_ be drunk," she finished for him, sweeping past and into the house.

Athos tilted his glass after her in a vague toast, then wandered over to where Porthos was standing looking embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," Athos murmured. "I should have told her. But she doesn't normally emerge in daylight," he added with a slight smirk.

"Bit of a ballbreaker, eh?" Porthos ventured, but Athos frowned at him.

"That's my wife you're talking about," he said mildly.

"Right. Sorry." Porthos felt annoyed, given that he'd only been trying for a bit of solidarity. "Still, guess she's got a point, eh? I mean it is only nine o'clock."

Athos looked at him. "Do feel free to try it," he murmured, holding out his glass.

"No, thanks. Really." Porthos waved the glass away, but there was something in Athos' face that made him reconsider. "Hang on." He reached out and took the glass from Athos, giving the contents a cautious sniff, then frowning. He took a sip.

"It's water?" he said in surprise, giving the glass back to Athos.

"Heavy night," Athos explained sheepishly.

"Why didn't you tell her?" 

Athos shrugged. "She despises me hungover as much as drunk, so what's the point?" He gave Porthos a vaguely rueful smile and wandered back into the house.

It was only later in the day that it occurred to Porthos that while Athos hadn't cared about his wife's opinion, he had apparently cared about Porthos'. He sighed. Athos confused him to hell and back.

\--

The next day Porthos was strimming back the straggly lawn at the rear of the garden when he hit something hidden in the long grass. There was a sickening crack and he discovered to his horror that he'd just managed to decapitate a stone fairy. 

The severed head goggled up at him accusingly and he sighed, hoping it hadn't been overly valuable. He suspected not. The grounds were full of these things, cheap looking gnomes and woodland creatures of excruciating taste, and he couldn't figure it out. Neither Athos not Anne struck him as the type to like that sort of thing. Still, he'd better own up to his accidental vandalism.

He knocked at the kitchen door, but there was no answer and after a moment's hesitation he let himself in. He knew Athos was up and about, had received a cursory wave through the kitchen window earlier, but the room was now empty. 

He wandered out into the hall and followed faint sounds of typing into what proved to be the study. 

Athos, oblivious, was staring at a computer screen, one hand screwed pensively into a fistful of his own hair. Porthos knocked lightly on the open door and Athos looked round in surprise, to his relief giving a smile when he saw who it was. 

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Porthos asked.

"No, no, not at all. Come in." Athos waved him forward. "Glad of the distraction, to be honest."

"I've got a confession to make." Porthos brought out the stone head from behind his back. "I've massacred your pixie."

To his immense relief Athos just looked highly amused, getting out of his chair and taking it with the most genuine smile Porthos had ever seen from him.

"Oh dear." Athos dropped the head into the waste paper basket with a faint laugh. "Never mind."

"I'll replace it of course," Porthos offered, but Athos shook his head.

"Oh God, no, don't worry. It wasn't worth anything." He bit his lip, and looked almost mischievous. "My wife hates them you see," he confided. "Loathes them. So I keep buying them. There's not a single window she can look out of without seeing something that pisses her off." He gave Porthos a guilty smile. "Childish I know, but oddly satisfying."

Porthos gave him a pitying look. "Why don't you just divorce her?"

Athos looked startled. "I love her," he said defensively.

"Do you?" Porthos sounded incredulous, and Athos sighed.

"I did, once," he breathed. "It wasn't always like this." He gave Porthos unreadable eyes. "Don't worry about the pixie," he said quietly. "Everything breaks, eventually."

Porthos went back to work feeling unaccountably sad.

\--

On Thursday Porthos kept an eagle eye on the house for signs of life, and as soon as Athos appeared in the kitchen, he went over to knock on the door.

"Hello." Athos was filling the kettle, and waved it absently at him. "Tea?"

"No, thank you." It was reflex that made him automatically decline, but Porthos immediately felt rather mean at the tangible air of resignation that once more settled over Athos. "I bought you a present," Porthos continued quickly, wanting to make him smile again.

"For me?" Athos looked startled, and Porthos held out a bag. 

"Thought you might like it," he said.

Athos looked inside then drew out the object within, a delighted expression creeping over his face. It was a plaster hedgehog, painted in the colours of a bumble bee, and it was holding a fishing rod. 

"It's hideous," Athos declared with a peal of laughter, looking happier than Porthos had ever seen him. "I love it."

"I saw it and thought of you," Porthos admitted, more pleased than he cared to acknowledge by Athos' reaction. He didn't think he'd ever heard him laugh before now, at least not in such a carefree way.

"I'm going to put it by the pool," Athos said. "Although I should warn you she'll probably have broken it within a week."

"It's okay, it wasn't expensive." Porthos frowned. "She break a lot of them?"

"Oh yes," Athos said matter-of-factly. "At first she'd always be smashing them, or throwing them away, but she discovered two more would always mysteriously pop up in their place so she's given up lately."

He strolled outside and placed the garish hedgehog in a planter of roses, standing back to consider it happily. "There." He looked at Porthos, a slight questioning air to his smile now, as if wondering why he was suddenly being nice to him. Porthos wasn't entirely sure himself, and he cleared his throat, feeling unsettled.

"Yeah, well. I'd better get on." He turned and walked off briskly, leaving Athos looking a little crestfallen but mostly resigned. 

Athos was just glad Porthos had stayed on, having more than convinced himself that after the events of the previous week Porthos wouldn't come back. He couldn't stop thinking about him, or about what had happened, and felt a nervous squirming in his belly every time he saw him. Not so much butterflies as a mass of snakes writhing inside him, twisting desire and longing with an edge of fear. Not exactly of Porthos, but of himself - what he'd be prepared to do, and how far he would go.

It was as addictive as the booze, and the fact that Porthos was being passably pleasant to him made Athos feel almost happy for once. It was tainted with what he'd come to recognise as his normal level of background self-loathing though, the very knowledge he longed for Porthos' favour sickening him. Craving his attention but hating himself for doing so, Athos had perversely been making himself stay at a distance as much as possible.

\--

When Porthos came for his money at the end of the week, he realised that Athos had added the now customary fifty pound note to what he'd legitimately earned, and hesitated.

"I - can't accept this," he said, feeling compelled to speak up but equally torn because he rather needed the money. "I've not done anything for it." Barring his single use of the pool Porthos had remained demurely covered for most of the week. He laid it back on the corner of Athos' desk.

For a second Athos said nothing, but then peeled a second fifty out of his wallet and laid it on top of the first, with the slow deliberation of someone playing an ace. 

"You still could," he said quietly. 

Porthos stared at him. The offer was crystal clear, and after the way the first time had gone, he was honestly shocked that Athos would even consider a reprise. Athos was staring firmly at the floor, allowing Porthos the option to decline and retreat, should he wish.

"Didn't I put you off already?" Porthos blurted, and Athos finally risked a fleeting glance upwards.

"Take more than that," he muttered, a spot of colour burning high in his pale cheeks.

Porthos felt his chest tighten, and had to swallow hard before he could answer. 

"Alright."

Athos looked at him properly then, and Porthos noticed how fast he was breathing. He'd wondered at first if he'd be able to get it up to order, but suddenly he was hard as all hell.

"Sit down." Athos almost whispered it, but it still sounded somehow loud in the quiet room.

Porthos lowered himself into the chair behind him and shot a nervous glance at the door as Athos got to his feet.

"She won't be home for hours," Athos said, guessing his concerns. He let himself gently down to the carpet between Porthos' legs, reaching up then glancing at Porthos for permission to continue before unfastening his flies.

Porthos shifted on the cushioned seat, making himself stay still as Athos carefully freed him from his clothing. Again, Athos showed no hesitation in going down on him, and Porthos bit back a moan as he was enveloped in soft wet heat. 

He'd always loved being sucked off, and there was such an added intensity to this that Porthos shivered from head to foot. It was surreal. Sitting on a chair that probably cost more than he earned in a month, with his employer diligently blowing him, and paying him for the privilege.

Porthos swallowed another moan and let his hands come to rest on Athos' head, guiding him deeper. He felt him flinch, and experienced a wave of guilt as he realised Athos was clearly expecting a repeat of his cruel behaviour last time. He forced himself to be gentle, stroking Athos' hair instead of pulling it, and was rewarded with what he really didn’t want to admit was the blow job of his life. 

This time when Porthos came Athos swallowed it all down without drama, licking him neatly clean and pressing a string of kisses to his cock before catching himself and drawing back with an embarrassed gasping laugh.

"Thank you," Athos whispered, not looking up.

Porthos didn't know what to say. He settled for stroking Athos' hair again rather awkwardly, then cupping his cheek, tilting Athos' face up to look at him and giving him a rather tight-lipped smile.

"You okay?" he asked.

Athos nodded, looking shaken and wide-eyed, but Porthos had to concede that was an improvement on last week's sobbing heap.

He got to his feet, zipping himself up and hesitating as he glanced at the money on the desk. 

"Take it." 

He looked down at Athos, who nodded. "Please. Take it. You've earned it."

Porthos picked up the cash and stuffed it hurriedly in his pocket, wondering whether he should do something about the fact Athos was still sitting on the carpet looking dazed.

"You sure you're okay?"

Athos managed a jerky nod. "Just - waiting for you to clear the driveway," he confessed, and Porthos gave a snort of embarrassed laughter as he took his meaning. 

"Oh. Yeah. Right." How rude was it to get paid for letting someone suck you off then not hang around to sort them out in turn? Porthos decided firmly that he didn't care.

"See you Monday, yeah?" 

Athos nodded, and listened to him leave the house before scrambling upstairs to his bedroom, yanking his flies open desperately as he went.

\--

As the days went by, at some point it occurred to Porthos that Athos had stopped inviting him to join him for cups of tea, or indeed trying to engage him in conversation at all. There seemed to be no bad feeling behind this, as Athos still waved his customary vague greeting whenever he chanced to catch his eye, and still occasionally came to sit outside with his notebooks when Porthos was working nearby. 

Porthos realised that his persistent refusals to be drawn into any kind of interaction had resulted in Athos finally accepting defeat, and his tentative offers of friendship had been quietly withdrawn. To his annoyance, Porthos felt uncomfortably bad about this. Athos seemed to have practically no contact with anyone else, and rarely left the house. Nobody ever came to visit him, and his groceries were all delivered. In all the time Porthos had been working there, he couldn't remember hearing the phone ring once.

Athos seemed to be a virtual recluse, and Porthos wondered if there was an element of agoraphobia about it or if he was happy enough. It wasn't an existence Porthos would have chosen, and he hardly blamed Athos for drinking to cope with it. He recalled Athos' remark that things hadn't always been this way, and tried to imagine what he might once have been like. 

Athos had flashes of animation certainly; Porthos had glimpsed a dry and sarcastic wit as well as occasional moments of almost childlike pleasure. But mostly he was smothered by a dragging ennui and it frustrated Porthos. He wanted to grab the man by his shirt and shake some life into him, but suspected Athos would merely submit to his anger rather than rising to it. 

Well, he might rise in other ways. Porthos snorted at the thought. Given his talent at giving head Athos clearly hadn't been a blushing virgin when he'd married - either that or Porthos was just the latest in a long line of illicit lovers. He wondered briefly if Anne had fired his predecessor because Athos had been screwing him.

Realising how much time he was wasting speculating about Athos made him cross. He didn't care, Porthos told himself. He was just intrigued. The only thing that Athos seemed to invest energy in was his writing, and Porthos wondered if that was the key to understanding him. 

The next time Porthos came in for his week's money, he let his eyes roam over the shelves above Athos' desk. They were lined with books and notebooks, and now he came to look more closely one small section held a number of slim spines with the name _Athos de la Fère_ embossed on them.

"You, um. Write anything I'd have heard of then?" Porthos murmured as Athos counted out his wages. 

Athos looked startled, although whether this was at the question or just at Porthos voluntarily starting a conversation, was hard to determine.

"Oh. No," he stammered, looking embarrassed. "No, I'm not, er, not published I'm afraid." 

"What are they then?" Porthos persisted, nodding at the books.

Athos flushed. "I - had some of them bound," he confessed in a low voice, looking down at his hands as though this was some kind of excruciating admission. "Just to see what they'd look like."

"Can I have a look?"

Athos looked up again in nervous surprise. "Oh they're not really worth reading. Just passes the time really. It's only self-indulgent nonsense."

"You should have more faith in yourself. Who says it is?" 

Athos hesitated. "Anne," he said, barely loud enough for Porthos to catch.

Porthos bristled. "What? Who else? You sent anything out to publishers?"

Athos shook his head. "She's the only person I've ever dared show it to," he breathed. "She tells me it's worthless."

In that moment, Porthos hated Anne's guts. To keep Athos under her thumb and running her flawless house for her was one thing, but to stamp on a man's dreams was quite another. 

"Let me see." He wiggled his fingers insistently, and after a brief internal battle, Athos handed one over.

Porthos flipped through it, reading a passage here and there. The writing was fluid, lyrical, and even just skimming couple of pages it suggested at a poignancy of style worthy of a bigger audience.

"Can I borrow this?" Porthos asked on a whim. "I'd like to read it properly. If that's alright?"

"Oh. I - yes, I suppose." Athos looked cornered, and Porthos took advantage of his hesitancy.

"Good. Thanks." He tapped the book in his hand. "Look, why don't you send it out to a few people?" he added. "It can't hurt."

Athos sighed. "I think to be told I was no good by professionals would hurt very much," he said carefully.

"Self-publish it then," Porthos suggested. "Loads of people do that these days. E-books and shit. If you're putting your heart and soul into something you might as well make a proper go of it or it's just a waste of effort."

"You think I'm wasting my time?" Athos said looking abruptly crushed, and Porthos frowned at him.

"I think you're wasting your life," he declared. "Get it out there man, for other people to see. Even if just one person out there likes it, you've made it all worth it."

They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing, and a second later Anne walked in, coming up short when she saw Porthos. 

"Oh. It's you. Athos, I have to go out again tonight, is my green dress ready?"

"In your wardrobe," Athos told her dutifully. "Ironed and aired."

She caught Porthos' hard gaze and returned it glare for glare. "Can I help you?"

"I was just telling Athos how good his writing is," Porthos said coldly.

She sneered. "What the hell would you know about it, you clean pools for a living."

Porthos physically flinched, but to his surprise it was once again Athos who came to his defence. 

"Oh don't mind her. The only culture she's interested in is one she can grow in a petri dish. And that's only so she can kill it with acid," Athos declared. He and Anne exchanged squinty smiles and she stalked out again.

"What does she do, talk to it?" Porthos was filled with unaccountable anger on Athos' behalf, and the rather bemused sense that Athos only ever stood up for himself when he was defending Porthos.

Athos gave him a fleeting smile of conspiratorial glee, and Porthos made a decision. He reached out and grabbed Athos' shirt, pulling him closer. "Meet me in the shed," he muttered. "Five minutes."

\--

As Porthos made his way out to the shed he wondered what the hell he was doing. He'd promised himself after the last time that he wouldn't do this again, that it was better to keep Athos at arm's length. He had to admit he welcomed the extra money, but at least occasionally taking his shirt off in return for the odd fifty let him leave all the blame at Athos' door. 

He frowned, finding his own prejudices needling at him. He'd never thought of himself as homophobic, he had nothing against other people being gay. He had nothing against _Athos_ being gay - or bi, or whatever he was. It was just that Porthos was discovering he was rather uncomfortable at the thought of being in any way gay himself - and that sat awkwardly with his self-image as a decent man.

He let himself into the potting shed and closed the door behind him. There was a dim daylight coming through the window, waving creeper giving it a greenish, underwater tinge, and it smelt comfortingly of dry grass and earth. 

Porthos unbuckled his jeans and lowered himself into the single beaten up wooden chair. Athos would be here any minute. Athos with his shy smile and frequent blushes, Athos with his infuriatingly submissive apologies for existing. Athos, with his hot mouth and unexpectedly clever tongue. 

Porthos was hard, had been hard since he left Athos' study, the startled gasp of needy surprise that Athos had given at his abrupt offer had seen to that. He spat into his hand and started working his cock, legs splayed, sprawled back in the chair.

That was how Athos found him a minute or so later, slinking in the door with a wary hesitation. Porthos was sitting facing him, fully erect and slowly fisting his cock, his eyes on Athos' face. 

Athos was red in the cheeks as usual, but it was a flush of arousal and need rather than embarrassment. He started forward then checked himself, as if realising he hadn't had permission yet. 

Porthos nodded to him. "Go ahead," he said in a low voice, and Athos dropped to his knees.

This was a dangerously addictive feeling, Porthos thought as Athos took him into his mouth. Not just the physical sensations but having such power over someone. He could make Athos do anything, he realised. Anything, and still make Athos thank him for it. _Pay_ him, for it.

Athos was shifting awkwardly as he knelt between Porthos' legs, and Porthos took pity on him.

"You can touch yourself, if you want," he said gruffly.

Athos didn't meet his eyes, but he drew his mouth off Porthos' cock for a moment and unfastened his flies before resuming. Porthos couldn't see much, but the movements suggested Athos was jerking himself off a lot harder than the stroke he was applying to Porthos. Faintly impressed he could maintain two separate rhythms, Porthos peered downwards, safe in the knowledge Athos certainly wouldn't look up, and caught a glimpse of the flushed pink head of his cock moving through the circle of his fingers.

He sat back, fighting the sudden urge to come, his hips pushing up involuntarily, ramming his cock harder into Athos' mouth. 

He wasn't turned on by the sight of Athos' prick. He wasn't. He wasn't.

Athos made a strangled noise, and Porthos thought he'd accidentally choked him for a second before realising that Athos had just come himself, and was trying to simultaneously stop a messy handful of semen dripping onto Porthos' shoes, and continue the blow job. 

Porthos had a split second to be smug that Athos' multi-tasking apparently had its limits after all, before the fact that Athos had just climaxed from sucking him off sank in, and he abruptly found himself spilling into Athos' mouth with a loud groan.

When Athos had swallowed every last thick drop, he sagged where he knelt, shoulders slumping with the release of tension and hit by a wave of mingled euphoria and guilt. Hesitantly, he laid his head against Porthos' leg, bearded cheek to bare thigh, and gave a barely audible sigh.

After a second, not knowing what else to do, Porthos laid a hand on his head and awkwardly stroked his hair a couple of times.

When Athos had recovered himself enough for self-consciousness to overwhelm basic need, he sat back, finding a tissue in his pocket to discreetly clean off his hand and zipping up his trousers.

"Thank you," he said, keeping his eyes lowered, but taking something out of his shirt pocket and holding it up for Porthos. Two slightly crumpled fifties.

Porthos took them, and noted again the way Athos relaxed a tiny amount as he did so. A business transaction, that's all this was. Nothing more, to either of them.

He stood up, adjusting himself more comfortably, and shoving the money in his pocket. 

"See you Monday, eh?"

Athos nodded, still not looking up, and Porthos sighed. "Yeah."

He walked out, wondering if he was being watched from the house, and deciding he didn't give a fuck.

\--

Porthos was in a quandary. The extra money he'd been receiving lately from Athos had allowed him to enter into certain things that he'd never had the spare cash to do before - but he'd suddenly discovered there were unforeseen expenses involved.

Looking dismally at the letter in his hand, he phoned the only person he could think of that might help him.

"Flea. I'm in the shit. Look, I hate to ask, but I don't suppose I could borrow some money?"

"How much?"

Porthos winced. "Three hundred quid." 

There was a startled silence on the phone. "Babe, I'd help if I could but you know I don't have that kind of cash to spare." Another pause. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Porthos sighed. "Not exactly - I mean, it's not like I owe it to the kind of people who are going to break me legs or anything. I just - I signed up for an evening class, okay?" he admitted, feeling stupidly defensive about trying to better himself. "But you have to pay more to take the exams at the end, and I didn't realise. I suppose it's not the end of the world, it's just - a whole lot of money and work is going to go to waste if I don't find it sharpish."

"How sharpish?"

"Six o'clock this evening."

"Porthos!" 

"I know, I _know_." He groaned. "I should have read the small print at the beginning but I didn't, and now I'm stuffed."

"Isn't there anyone else? You must know people with more money to throw around than me. What about your friend - what's his name - the one with the designer shirts and too much hair gel?"

"Aramis? Nah, he's in Italy. Been crewing on a yacht all summer." Porthos sighed again, dismally. The nagging thought that kept coming back to him was that he _did_ know someone who would have the money to spare. It was just that he could hardly just walk up and ask for it.

He rang off and considered his options. Athos really was his only hope. He was certain he could get a hundred out of him no problem, but he could hardly offer to suck him off three times in a row. What if he offered something else though? 

Porthos made a face. He wasn't at all sure he could bring himself to suck Athos off instead. What if he offered to fuck him? It would be over relatively quickly, and in an odd way seemed less intimate than putting his mouth on him. Athos wouldn't expect to kiss and cuddle. He'd be grateful for anything he got.

The more Porthos considered it, the more it felt like a feasible plan, and more importantly his only option.

Feeling supremely self-conscious he went to buy condoms and lube. Every second he was in the shop he was bristling with embarrassment, thinking the counter staff would assume he was gay, would know he was going to fuck another man. By the time he reached Athos' house, he was angry and nervous and worked up.

When Athos answered the door, he was considerably surprised to find Porthos on the front step.

"Hello! Is everything alright?" He'd only seen him that morning after all, with no indication he'd be back. 

"Yeah." Porthos looked over Athos' shoulder warily. "Is your wife in?"

"No."

"Good." Porthos pushed inside, Athos stepping back automatically before him. Porthos closed the door and took a deep breath.

"Three hundred quid and I'll fuck you," he said, flatly. No point dancing around it, and they'd never done small talk, after all. 

Athos stared at him, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"Look, I need the money, okay? Three hundred quid. You and me. What do you say?"

"I - " Athos faltered, and Porthos stepped closer. Athos hit the wall behind him and jumped, as Porthos came right into his personal space. 

"The word you're looking for, is yes," said Porthos in a low voice, gazing at him intently and struck by the sudden fear Athos would turn him down after all.

For a moment Athos, wide eyed and frozen, could only stare at him transfixed.

"Athos?"

"Yes." It was a breath, nothing more, but Porthos grinned. 

"Yes?"

"Yes." Stronger this time, as Athos seemingly accepted that it was a genuine offer. 

"Better show me your bed then, eh?"

_"Now?"_ Athos looked hunted, but Porthos nodded, impatient to get it over with. 

"Oh. Right. Yes. Um." 

Athos lead him upstairs and into his bedroom, looking dazed. Porthos hurriedly stripped off his clothes and finally seeing that he was sincere, Athos began falteringly to undress next to him.

As they moved to the bed, Porthos turned to him. "No kissing," he instructed. "And I ain't touching you. What you do's up to you."

Athos nodded obedient understanding, although his face closed down a little. If he'd been hoping the money was just a pretext for Porthos to be with him, he was being rapidly disabused of the notion.

Porthos had a fleeting moment of guilt, and quashed it firmly. Athos had accepted readily enough, as he'd guessed he would, and while he might be currently sitting curled on the bed looking pale and abashed, his cock was hard and proud and told another story.

"On your front." Porthos climbed onto the bed behind him, impatience hiding nerves. It was dawning on him that he'd never done this before, didn't really know what he was doing. Athos could presumably have helped him he realised, but it was somehow important that he stayed in control of this. It was a business-like fuck, that was all. They weren't _making love_ , or any sentimental shit like that.

With fingers that threatened to tremble he opened a condom and rolled it on, conscious of Athos sneaking glances at him. Porthos was almost taken aback how turned on he was himself. It was a rush, certainly - marching into someone else's house and demanding to fuck them, particularly when they might be interrupted at any minute. It had only just occurred to him that he hadn't asked Athos how long Anne was likely to be out - he assumed Athos wouldn't have agreed to this if her return was imminent, but then again who knew, with Athos.

The threat of discovery, the thrill of domination - it wasn't only that though. However reluctant he was to admit it, the sight of Athos naked and hard was doing things to him. 

Given Athos' sedate, heavy-drinking lifestyle Porthos hadn't expected much of his body, but under his loose and crumpled clothes Athos had turned out to be remarkably trim. He had a neat waist and shapely backside, lithely muscled arms, curves that were soft without being flabby.

Porthos opened the lube and after a moment's hesitation smeared some over his cock. He had a feeling he should probably be doing more than this, that to take Athos without any kind of foreplay or preparation was probably going to be uncomfortable for him, but blanched from the thought of having to stick his fingers up Athos' arse. 

Deep down a voice told him it shouldn't be any different, that he'd been happy enough to explore Flea with his fingers, and in the past with his mouth as well - but embarrassment won out, and he did nothing.

Instead he knelt behind Athos, reaching out to move him into a more convenient position. This was the first time he'd touched him so intimately Porthos realised, his hands feeling clumsy on Athos' hips.

Athos made no complaint and no attempt to engage him in conversation, seemingly accepting his place was simply to do as he was told. He was crouched on all fours, head hanging heavily, with one hand tucked under; the movement of his elbow all that told Porthos he was slowly stroking himself.

Taking fresh resolve from the fact Athos was at least getting off on this rather than just submitting to the force of his personality, Porthos took hold of his cock, nudging up against Athos' hole.

Pushing it in was more difficult than he'd expected, and he resisted the urge to order Athos to relax, guessing that would probably only have the opposite effect. They were both tense, and he could see from the rise and fall of Athos' shoulders how rapid his breathing was.

He licked his lips and pushed harder, finally slipping past the tight ring of muscle and thrusting inside with a sudden shove that made Athos cry out involuntarily, quickly stifling himself. 

Porthos paused, halfway in and already wide-eyed from the sensations. Athos was hot and tight and Porthos shivered, from the feeling of transgression as much as the physical pleasure. 

He took a better grip on Athos' hips and pushed deeper, watching his cock disappear inside him with fascination and trying not to wonder if it was hurting. To his mind it certainly looked painful, but Athos' hand was still working on himself, and after that first surprised cry he hadn't made another sound. He must be used to it, after all, Porthos told himself. This was unlikely to be the first time Athos had been fucked.

He started moving with more purpose, thrusting in and out with a careless disregard for Athos' comfort, his fingers leaving marks on Athos' pale skin where he held him steady. Athos let himself be fucked, the occasional whimper bleeding out of him the only outward reaction to such rough treatment.

Porthos found an almost savage enjoyment in it, working out his embarrassment and conflicted arousal in the rapid pounding. Part of him was angry that Athos was taking it all so meekly, wanted him to react, to make demands, to assert his authority, and it made him brutal.

Suddenly Porthos was aware of Athos clenching around him, his whimpers becoming a breathy groan that sounded to Porthos' ears a lot closer to despair than satisfaction. There was no question about the fact that Athos had just come though, and the thought coupled with the spasming of his body caused Porthos to follow suit less than a minute later. The orgasm was intense and cathartic and Porthos pulled out panting triumphantly.

As soon as Porthos let go of him Athos slumped to the bed, his breathing harsh and catching in his throat. He curled in on himself protectively, arms around his knees and that persistent thread of guilt was back, winding tightly around Porthos' heart.

"You okay?" he asked shortly, peeling off the condom and looking around for a bin. He dropped it in and reached for his clothes, eager to start pretending this had never happened, and also conscious of the time ticking away. 

To his relief Athos managed a jerky nod, although didn't look up. Porthos dressed quickly and looked down at him, at a bit of a loss. Athos hadn't moved, was curled in a defensive ball on the rumpled duvet, shuddering bodily. 

Porthos caught a muffled sob and realised to his horror Athos was crying. His stomach gave a jolt. Had he hurt him that badly? He hadn't thought so. He'd been rough but hardly cruel, and Athos had come quickly enough from it, hadn't he? 

Porthos looked at his watch again and winced. "Look, I don't want to rush you, but could I have my money?" he asked awkwardly.

Athos flinched violently, and Porthos realised he hadn't known he was still in the room. Why should he after all, every other time Porthos had walked straight out on him.

Athos was wiping his face, shakily trying to master himself. "Yes. Yes of course," he managed. "I'm sorry. I'll - I'll be - please - give me a minute?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll be downstairs."

Porthos waited in the study, looking constantly at his watch and hoping Athos wasn't long. To his relief Athos appeared after only a few minutes. He was dressed again, and his beard and hair was wet, as if he'd been immersing his tear-stained face in the basin.

Athos hastily found his wallet and looked inside, hesitating as he drew out some notes. "I, ah - I only have a hundred and twenty on me," he stammered. "Sorry - I didn't know - I can pay you tomorrow?"

Porthos' heart sank. "I need it tonight," he insisted. 

"I - I can't drive anywhere. I've had too much to drink," Athos confessed, looking more humiliated and upset every second.

"I can take you?" Hardening his heart to Athos' look of mortification. "It's just - I do need it tonight," Porthos added, trying to soften the blow a little.

Athos said nothing during the awkward drive to the nearest cashpoint, and nothing as he handed over the money to Porthos afterwards. Porthos thanked him profusely, apologising for being so insistent, but there was a blankness now to Athos that his words seemed to slide off.

He gave up, driving Athos home again in silence.

"See you tomorrow, eh?" Porthos said as Athos got out, wondering privately if it wouldn't be better for both of them if he just never came back at all. Let Athos keep a little dignity. Let them both forget it had ever happened.

Athos hesitated and gave the briefest of nods, but then looked back and met his eyes for one fleeting moment.

"Forgive me," he said under his breath, and walked into the house without looking back.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Having paid his college dues in person five minutes before the deadline, Porthos drove home and tried to settle in for the evening - only to find that however hard he tried, he couldn't relax. 

The memory of the utter desolation in Athos' face at the end kept returning to haunt him, and he fidgeted uneasily. Now he'd had time to reflect on things, Porthos could see objectively how rough he'd been with Athos, and how unfeeling afterwards.

Eventually, he made up his mind. He would go back and apologise. It would make him feel better. He would explain to Athos why he'd needed the cash, and offer to pay it back when he could, or work it off. Whichever way you looked at it Athos had got a poor return for his money, and while Porthos was many things, he wasn't a cheat.

Troubled in heart and mind, Porthos drove back out to the expensive suburb where Athos lived and parked outside the house on the other side of the road.

He sat there for a minute, plucking up his courage to go in and realising with a sinking heart that Athos was almost certainly pissed out of his skull by now. Maybe this would be better left to the morning after all. 

As he hesitated, Porthos saw a car turn into the driveway opposite and turn off its engine. After a second Anne got out and locked the car, letting herself into the house without looking around. Porthos sighed. He could hardly go in now, with her there.

Drumming his fingers on the wheel with indecision Porthos was about to drive off when to his surprise the front door was flung open again and Anne came out at a flat run, slamming it behind her almost in a panic. 

He wondered if she'd rowed with Athos, but there'd hardly been time for that, and she certainly didn't seem the type to be this flustered by anything Athos could throw at her.

Porthos watched her drive off in a squeal of tyres and then shrugged. At least it left the coast clear.

His ringing and knocking at the front door went unanswered, so he wandered round the back. The kitchen door was locked, but a light showed further along and he made his way down the side of the house to the dining room. 

Looking in through the glass doors, for a second he couldn't take in what he was seeing. He thought at first there was a coat thrown carelessly on the floor by the table. Then things came into abrupt focus and his heart thumped in his chest. It was Athos, sprawled on the floor and unmoving.

He pulled at the patio door and to his relief it slid obligingly open under his hand. Porthos' first wild thought was that Anne had hit him with the decanter lying empty on the carpet - but then he saw the pill bottle next to it. _Diazepam_ , he read. Valium.

"No. Athos, no, what the fuck have you done?" Porthos dropped to his knees, feeling desperately for a pulse and after a long, terrified second finally finding one. He dragged out his mobile, calling for an ambulance in tones of numb shock. 

The following wait was the longest of his life, kneeling on the carpet checking every few seconds that Athos was still weakly breathing. 

As the minutes crawled sluggishly past, Porthos realised something with a cold, sharp horror. Anne must have come in and found Athos like this - found him, and left him again.

Sirens, and paramedics, and a barrage of questions. Porthos was about to ask to come with them in the ambulance, then realised he'd need his car to get home from the hospital afterwards. To take Athos home, God willing.

So he followed on, driving as fast as he dared in the wake of the ambulance and offering up more prayers than he'd ever uttered in his life. Navigating hospital receptionists and stark corridors and harassed staff until he was finally shown to a waiting room that was simply a line of hard chairs in a corridor.

While the few minutes' wait for the paramedics had felt like hours, this wait felt like weeks. People hurried to and fro, all ignoring him, all wrapped up in their own problems.

Eventually he was escorted away, but his hopes he would be taken to see Athos were dashed when he was led into a small windowless office.

"Mr du Vallon?" The doctor asked, consulting her clipboard. "It was you who found Mr la Fère, and called the ambulance is that right?"

"Yes." Porthos' throat was dry, and he had to swallow to get the next words out. "Will he - is he okay?"

To his infinite relief, she nodded. "It seems you found him not long after he'd taken the pills, and I'm pleased to say your prompt action has probably saved his life. We are just waiting for him to regain consciousness before we can check there has been no lasting physical damage."

She hesitated, and Porthos wondered nervously what was coming. 

"Are you Mr la Fère's partner?" she asked, giving him briskly professional eyes, as if to reassure him she wouldn't be perturbed by his answer.

"Uh - no, no I'm his - " Porthos hesitated. _Gardener._ "Friend." 

"Okay. Does he have a partner, do you know?"

"He's married," Porthos said. "To a woman," he added, as an afterthought.

The doctor's expression became a little more sombre and she consulted her notes again. Porthos got the feeling the clipboard was a prop more than anything, that she was leading up to something awful. 

"Do you have any idea why he might have tried to take his own life?"

"No." Cold fist around his heart. "I - don't think he was always very happy?" Porthos ventured.

Another hesitation. "Only, there are - indications he may have been recently sexually assaulted." 

Porthos felt like his own heart had stopped, and wondered what she could read in his face. _Indications._ What did that mean? Bruising, bleeding, tearing? Had he really been so appallingly rough it looked like Athos had been _raped?_

"As I'm sure you can appreciate, if this was sustained as part of a consensual relationship, we have no wish to embarrass anyone. On the other hand, and in view of his subsequent actions, if necessary we will need to involve the police."

Porthos buried his head in his hands. "It was me," he said indistinctly. "I mean - it wasn't assault. It was just sex. He was fine when I left him." She looked at him steadily and Porthos wilted. "He wasn't fine was he?" he whispered, to himself more than anything. He'd known Athos was hurting, hadn't he. That was why he'd gone back. Thank God he had.

"You understand we will need to speak with him. To confirm his version of events."

Porthos nodded, wretched and guilt-stricken. "Can I see him?"

\--

It was another hour, before they lead him down. A thin walled cubicle with a curtain for a door, and Athos lying weakly on a trolley. 

When Porthos came in he turned his head slightly to look up at him, expression somewhere between blank and bleak.

Porthos laid his hand over Athos', carefully avoiding the IV line.

"You stupid bastard," he whispered. "What have you done?"

Athos' eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "Why did you bring me back?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the unforgiving tubes that had been fed down his throat.

"What?" Porthos stared, and Athos turned his head away again.

"You don't want me," Athos breathed. "Nobody wants me. Even I don't want me. You should have left me to die."

"No. _No._ " Porthos slipped his hand right into Athos' and squeezed his fingers, feeling helpless and near tears himself. "Don't say that." He took a shuddering breath. "Athos, I'm sorry. What I did, what I said. It was wrong, all of it. You're worth more than this. Please." 

Slowly, Athos turned back to look at him. The lack of hope in his expression cut Porthos to the quick. 

"I'm sorry," Porthos whispered again. "I'm _sorry_."

Athos shook his head, the tiniest amount, as if moving hurt him.

"I forgive you," he said, the words rasping quietly from his abused throat. "There. You're absolved. Now you can go."

Porthos shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Athos frowned, lips quivering in the first display of emotion he'd shown. "You don't want to be here," he insisted. "You don't have to be here. You've done enough. Go home." 

"No." Porthos placed his other hand over the one already holding Athos' and clasped him tightly. "So just shut up, okay? I'm staying."

"Why?" Athos stared up at him in what looked like genuine confusion. 

Porthos shrugged uncomfortably. Guilt. Sorrow. Sympathy. Anger. Affection. Any and all of them, but none seemed to quite sum up how he was feeling.

"Because," he said simply. 

Athos swallowed painfully and Porthos helped him sip some water, relieved when Athos silently accepted his aid.

"They - they think I assaulted you," Porthos said, when the silence between them had stretched out uncomfortably. It was hardly the most cheerful topic to bring up, but it had been preying on his mind. 

Athos looked at him for a long moment before answering, and Porthos experienced the sudden stomach-churning realisation that if Athos wanted revenge on him, all he needed to do was say that he had. Images of being arrested and imprisoned flashed before his eyes, and he felt sick. It occurred to him for the first time that Athos might even have genuinely seen it that way, that it really had been why he'd tried to kill himself, and he stared at him in increasing anxiety until Athos sighed and shook his head again.

"You don't need to worry. They've asked me that already. I told them - " he faltered. "I told them we were lovers. That I'd asked for it rough." He dropped his gaze, heat flaring in his cheeks and Porthos felt a dizzying flood of incredulous relief and gratitude. To think that after everything he'd done, Athos had protected him, defended him - he took hold of Athos' hand again, and rubbed his thumb across his cold fingers.

"I'm sorry," Athos whispered, and Porthos frowned.

" _You're_ sorry? What for?"

"You don't mind? That I told them we were lovers?" Athos asked in a tiny voice. "You're not angry?"

"Why would I be - " Porthos bit off the sentence mid-way though, remembering how uncomfortable he'd been with people thinking he was gay, how determined he'd been not to show Athos any affection that might have been taken as attraction to him. "I'm not angry," he confirmed quietly. "Athos - I'm sorry. I treated you like shit, and I never saw what I was doing to you."

Athos glanced up at him, eyes tired and heavy. "It wasn't you," he said in a low voice. "You don't need to blame yourself for this. I've been living with myself for a lot longer than you've been around. It just - got too much, I guess."

"And it was me that tipped you over the edge," Porthos said bitterly. "You might not blame me, but that doesn't mean it's not my fault."

Athos looked pained. "Porthos," he sighed wearily. "It's hard enough living with my own feelings of guilt, don't make me bear yours too."

Porthos opened his mouth, closed it again. Right now he had to be guided by what Athos wanted and needed, he owed him that much.

What Athos wanted, as he repeated several times over the next half hour with increasing vehemence, was for Porthos to go away and leave him alone, to go home and forget about him, to just get out of his life and stop making things worse.

What Athos needed, it transpired, was for someone to be willing to take responsibility for him and keep watch over him for a minimum of twenty four hours, otherwise he was going to be admitted and kept under observation in the psychiatric ward for the same period.

Reluctantly, Athos glanced from the psych team nurse to Porthos, who nodded quickly. 

"I'll look after him," Porthos declared. "Of course I will."

Athos was duly signed over into Porthos' care, and reunited with his clothes. He followed Porthos out into the car park, shivering in the night air. Even though endless hours had seemed to drag past inside the hospital, Porthos was still somehow surprised to find it was dark outside.

He peeled off his jacket and draped it round Athos' shoulders, brooking no complaint as he unlocked the car. The journey home was another trip undertaken in near silence, but this time it was mostly because Athos was exhausted, his head lolling against the back of the seat as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Porthos wondered whether to take Athos to his own flat, but in the end took him home, reasoning familiar surroundings would be more comforting than a strange environment and someone else's turf. It was only on arrival that he realised the dining room stank of spilled whisky and Athos' bed was still rumpled from their ill-fated sex.

He installed Athos on a sofa in the living room, tucking a duvet round him that he'd pulled from what appeared to be a guest bedroom before going to clear away the evidence of everything that had happened earlier that evening. Having changed the sheets and duvet cover on Athos' bed, he finally helped him upstairs.

Athos looked at him, flushing. "Would you mind letting me undress in private?" he asked with dignity.

Porthos hesitated, and Athos sighed. "I promise not to slit my wrists in the time it takes me to put on my pyjamas," he said, and it was Porthos' turn to look embarrassed.

"Right. Yeah." He slipped out of the room and paced up and down the hallway, nervously conscious of the fact he'd promised not to let Athos out of his sight for long. It seemed ridiculous anyway, given that they'd seen each other naked just hours earlier, but he guessed Athos was feeling fragile and defensive.

After a while he noticed the light click off and went back, knocking quietly on the half-open door to let Athos know he was coming in. The room was in semi-darkness, illuminated only by the light from the hallway beyond, and Athos was an indistinct lump in the bed.

Porthos toed off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, moving closer until he could make out Athos' tousled head on the pillow, facing away from him. 

"You don't have to stay," Athos mumbled. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"I promised the hospital," Porthos pointed out. "I'm supposed to be looking after you."

"I won't try again," Athos said wearily. "You have my word. You can go home if you want."

"I'm not going anywhere." Porthos lay down on his side and after a second shuffled right up to Athos' duvet swathed form and put an arm round him.

Athos murmured in token protest, but Porthos hushed him quietly, and he gave in. Within minutes Athos was asleep, but Porthos lay awake for hours, just listening to his breathing in the dark.

\--

Porthos ventured upstairs the next morning carrying two mugs of tea. He'd woken early and left Athos sleeping - he was conscious that Anne might return at any minute and didn't particularly want to be discovered snuggled up to her husband.

Not, he realised, because he didn't want her to think they were a couple, but because they weren't. Porthos was here on sufferance, and he knew it. So far Athos had given in to his determination to stay, but if he became really insistent there was nothing Porthos could do. Athos was his employer, not his lover. The thought hurt strangely.

Athos was sitting up in bed, looking tired and resigned. He glanced up as Porthos appeared in the doorway and his eyes widened with momentary surprise. Porthos realised Athos must have assumed he'd left in the night, that the movements downstairs were probably just his wife. Which was another awkward conversation they would need to have.

"You're still here." Athos sounded confused more than annoyed, and Porthos smiled at him.

"Course I am. Promised I'd look after you didn't I?" He set a mug down on the bedside table and sat on the side of the bed. "Thought you might like some tea?"

Athos nodded vaguely. "Thank you," he said automatically. "My wife - "

"Ain't here. Probably won't be back for a while," Porthos said. To his relief, Athos accepted it without further questions, and he wondered how much Athos actually saw of her ordinarily. 

"How are you feeling?" Porthos asked quietly. 

Athos considered the question. "Numb," he said finally. "I don't think it's really hit me yet. What I tried to do." He sighed. "What I failed to do."

"Athos - " Porthos protested warningly. 

"What?" Athos looked at him defiantly. "If I'd succeeded I wouldn't be having to go through all this now, would I? And neither would you."

"Do you have any idea how I'd have felt if you had succeeded?" Porthos demanded, knowing as he said it how selfish that was, that it was surely nothing to how Athos must have been feeling to attempt it in the first place.

"Unemployed?" Athos suggested waspishly. 

It was a brief spark of his former self, and Porthos gave a splutter of startled laughter. To his surprise Athos relaxed a fraction, not quite smiling but his expression loosened a little.

"Why Athos?" Porthos murmured. "Why did you do it?"

Athos stared down into his tea. "Do you have any idea what it's like to loathe yourself as much as I do?" he breathed. "To think of all the things you could have done with your life and yet just sit there watching the years slipping away? To watch the woman you once loved come to despise you? To want things you can't have, feel things you shouldn't? To conclude that, when it really comes down to it, you're nothing but a waste of space?" He sipped at his cooling tea, and Porthos stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

"The drink helped," Athos said, then sighed. "At least, it felt like it helped. I know it was probably making things worse, on some level. But it meant I didn't have to feel. Didn't have to think. I thought I'd just drink myself into an early grave and no one would miss me." 

He glanced up, although not quite enough to meet Porthos' eyes. "And then you came along," he said quietly. "And for a while - my days were bright again. I tried to keep my distance, I really did. I knew you wouldn't be interested in me. I could sense the way you pitied me. See the way you looked at my drinking. And you made your feelings quite clear on what you thought of my attentions."

Guilty, Porthos remembered the way he'd accosted Athos in the kitchen, shouting at him, accusing him of being pathetic and perverted. He wished bitterly he could take those words back now.

"And then - " Athos faltered. "And then things did happen between us. And for one mad moment I thought that maybe you did like me after all. You let me do things, you encouraged me in my writing, you even stood up for me to my wife. I thought maybe - " he broke off, having to set down the mug because his hands were shaking so much.

"Last night, I suppose I finally realised I was fooling myself," Athos sighed. "That you didn't care for me, that you despised me as much as anyone else. You were just using me, for the money." 

Porthos made to interrupt, but Athos was speaking again and he broke off, letting him finish.

"I didn't mind that," Athos said. "I don't want you to think it was what you did, that drove me to it. It was the realisation that I was prepared to let you. That my future was one of paying you - or someone - for fleeting moments of gratification that only made me feel worse about myself afterwards."

There were tears in his eyes now and Porthos desperately wanted to reach out for him to hold him, but he couldn't. They weren't lovers. It wasn't his place, or prerogative.

"You must be so disgusted by me," Athos said in a low, miserable murmur. "What must you think of me, really? A desperate, mewling, alcoholic pervert." He took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped his nose. "You want to know why I did it? I just figured the world was better off without me. And I'm not sure I was wrong."

Porthos looked at him, shaken beyond measure and not having the first idea what to say that wouldn't sound like a trite and meaningless platitude.

"You can get help," Porthos said softly. "Thinking of yourself this way - it's not right. And it's not true. And for the record, I don't despise you, and I never have. I took advantage of you, yeah, but that's my crime, not yours. You're a good person, Athos, and I honestly, genuinely like you." 

Athos looked up, wary and disbelieving, and Porthos gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Look," he sighed. "Would it help if I told you what the money was for? I've been taking this business class, in the evenings. It's not something I could ever afford before, I only made enough to cover my rent and food and stuff, and I didn't qualify for any subsidies because I was working. But then - then you started slipping me extra money. And I probably shouldn't have accepted it, and I never meant to lead you on. But suddenly I realised I could afford the course fees, if I did."

Porthos drained the last of his own tea and toyed with the mug, conscious of Athos' watchful eyes fixed on him. 

"It was going well," he sighed. "Until yesterday. When I got a final reminder in the post that I hadn't paid my exam fees yet. I mean - I swear I'd never laid eyes on a _first_ reminder, so I don't know what happened to that, but when I looked through the paperwork it was all there in the small print. You pay the college for the course, but the exam board for the privilege of taking the exams at the end. And I hadn't known that, and I hadn't budgeted for it. So I was stuffed. A whole term's work and money wasted, unless I could find the money for the exams." 

"Three hundred pounds," Athos guessed, under his breath.

"Yeah." Porthos looked up at him sheepishly, then did a double take as he realised tears were spilling down Athos' cheeks.

"Athos?"

"Why didn't you just ask me?" Athos pleaded hoarsely. "I'd have leant you the money - I'd have _given_ you the money. Why didn't you just ask me for it? Why did you force yourself to sleep with me, put yourself through all that when you didn't have to, didn't _want_ to?"

"Well - " Porthos faltered. He'd had no reason to think Athos was that kindly inclined to him, for a start. "I thought - you might not want to. You know, as I was trying to move on and stuff. That if I passed the exams, I'd be looking for a better job, and - and leaving you." 

He broke off at the look of unremitting horror on Athos' face as he took in what Porthos was saying.

"If that's genuinely what you think of me," Athos managed, chest heaving with uncontrolled breathy sobs, "then you should have just left me to die."

"No - no!" Porthos did reach out for him now, frantic and distraught. He'd been trying to make things better, thinking that if Athos understood there'd been a genuine reason behind his callous haste and a good use for the money, that he might be less upset. It had backfired spectacularly and now Athos was crying in earnest, great hiccupping sobs that wracked his body, and Porthos suspected this was finally the whole tidal wave of delayed reaction hitting him at once.

He pulled him into his arms, holding Athos against his chest and squeezing him tight. At first Athos tried to struggle out of his embrace but Porthos wouldn't let him and after a second he went limp, collapsing into Porthos' arms and letting himself be held.

Dimly, Porthos chalked up another mark on his tally of guilt. He seemed to be constantly making Athos do things he didn't want to, even when he thought it was for his own good. 

They sat there for a long time, until Athos had cried himself out. Porthos said little, just stroked his hair and crooned noises of comfort and sympathy, and Athos stayed nestled in his arms for a while after he'd become calmer. 

Eventually he pulled back, customary embarrassment back on his face, but it was better than the look of desolation that had been there before.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Sorry." 

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Porthos missed his warmth already, and resisted the urge to try and hug him again, sensing it wouldn't be welcomed.

"I should probably take a shower," Athos sighed, suspecting he looked like a wreck and realising he didn't smell particularly fragrant either.

Porthos nodded. "I'll - give you some privacy," he said cautiously.

Athos picked up on his hesitation and guessed the reason. "I gave you my word I wouldn't try again," he said quietly. "Besides," he added with a faint glimmer of black humour. "I'm out of pills."

Porthos glowered at him. "Not funny." He collected the mugs and walked to the door before looking back. "Can I get you anything?"

"Gin and tonic?"

Porthos just looked at him and Athos gave him innocent eyes.

"What?"

"I'll make some more tea," Porthos declared, and went out. 

\--

Not liking to make himself too much at home in the rest of the house, Porthos retreated to the kitchen and was sitting at the counter when Athos appeared in the doorway half an hour later. He'd showered, and dressed, and looked calmer but fragile.

They nodded warily at each other, and Athos came slowly over to sit next to him.

"I made you some porridge," Porthos offered hopefully, pushing a gently steaming bowl towards him, then putting a mug of tea down next to it.

"I hate porridge," Athos muttered, looking mutinous and pouting slightly.

"You need to get something in your stomach, and I figured it'd be kinder on your throat than toast," Porthos declared. "Get it down you."

With a show of reluctance Athos took up the spoon, grumbling under his breath but doing as he was told. He fiddled endlessly with it, stirring in cream and sugar and drawing idle circles with his spoon, but at least some of it went in, and Porthos was content with that.

"Why are you doing this?" Athos asked suddenly. "If it's just because you feel guilty, you have no need to. And if it's because you're afraid I'll make another attempt, I promise I won't. You can go home."

"I'm staying," Porthos said quietly, and Athos stared at him for a while, trying to fathom him out.

"I'm sorry," Athos said finally, dropping his gaze into the concealing porridge. "I never imagined you would be the one to find me. I didn't mean to upset you like this. I thought it would be Anne."

Porthos took a deep breath. There was only so long he could avoid saying this. 

"It was."

"What?" Athos looked up, confused.

"She got here just before me, last night. Went into the house, then came out again like all the hounds of hell were after her. I think she found you, Athos. Found you, and left you to die. She sure as shit didn't call no ambulance."

Athos stared at him for a second then gave a sudden huff of incredulous laughter. Porthos frowned in consternation. It certainly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

"What's funny?"

Athos sighed, abruptly solemn again. "Just the fact that's probably the first time she's ever done anything in accordance with my wishes." 

He gave up on the porridge and dropped the spoon in revulsion, picking up his mug of tea instead and warming his hands. Porthos watched him, wondering how he really felt about it.

"You okay?"

Athos breathed in the steam, and closed his eyes. "No. Not really."

"Why don't you leave her? You don't care about this lifestyle, I know you don't."

Athos' eyes flew open again and he stared at Porthos for a second with an expression that had abruptly closed down. Porthos sensed he'd said something wrong, but couldn't work out what until Athos spoke.

"You think I'm a kept man," Athos said with a sudden mirthless laugh of realisation. "You think I'm freeloading."

"Well - no, that's not what - " He had though, Porthos realised guiltily.

"This is _my_ house," Athos interrupted. "She married _my_ money, not the other way round." He shook his head tiredly. "Jesus you really don't think much of me do you?"

"Athos - no. I just - what with her being the one working and stuff - " Porthos gave a groan of helpless annoyance with himself. It seemed that everything he said was wrong and designed to cause offence. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I made assumptions."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I should be flattered," he said. "That you think me worthy of being someone's trophy wife." He smiled, but there was no humour in it.

"I'm sorry," Porthos said heavily. 

"You keep saying that. I'm curious, does it make you feel better?"

Porthos shook his head mutely. "I don't know what else to say," he confessed.

Athos stared at him in tired frustration. "Well, I already forgave you. So I don't know what else to say either. What more do you want from me, Porthos?"

"I just want to make things better."

"Are you some kind of magician, then?" Athos sighed. "Go home, Porthos. Forget about me."

Porthos got to his feet, and took a deep breath. "I'll go. But only to pack a bag. I'm coming straight back."

"If you're only doing this because you feel guilty - "

"I'm not." Porthos cut across him. "I'm doing it because I want to. Because someone has to. Because despite what you say, I don't think you should be alone right now. Because you don't _have_ to be alone right now." He paused. "Is that enough reasons to be going on with?"

Athos nodded defeatedly. "Porthos," he called after him, as Porthos walked to the door. 

"Yeah?"

Athos studied him for a second, mustering his thoughts. "Don't - make me think you care, if you don't," he said quietly. "If you are doing this out of guilt, or some kind of well-meaning, misplaced sentiment - don't. Please don't. Right now - I need honesty, more than kind lies."

Porthos held his gaze, and nodded understanding. Swallowing down the reflex to say that he did, he did care - because Athos was right, he needed to understand his own motives before he made any kind of commitment. 

He mulled it over in his head as he drove home. Yesterday the thought of a relationship with Athos had been almost abhorrent to him, and he accepted that to offer Athos something he wasn't in the end capable of giving would do more harm than good. Even if the physical side of things wasn't an issue - and he had to admit to a certain buried guilty acknowledgement that it had been far more of a turn on than he'd ever imagined - Athos was, to put it kindly, a screw-up. Did he really want to get involved with someone with that many issues?

Porthos reached home, cleared up a little, packed a bag. Was back in the car before he'd come to any firm conclusions, and it wasn't until he was sitting outside Athos' house again that he realised he'd known from the start. He did care. And while part of it, unquestionably, did stem from guilt, he wasn't doing this to make himself feel better, he was doing it because he owed it to Athos. Because he wanted to help Athos.

The unanswered question, he realised with a sigh as he got out of the car, was whether Athos would let himself be helped.

\--

Porthos let himself into the empty kitchen, putting down his bag and wondering where Athos was. He'd washed up, Porthos noted with a rueful smile. Old habits died hard, and that was possibly not the only one, as he moved into the hallway and heard the clink of glass from the dining room.

"Athos?" he called out, and a second later Athos appeared in the doorway, looking furtive but also a little nonplussed.

"You came back."

"Course I came back." Porthos nodded at him. "What you up to?"

"Nothing," Athos replied, a little too quickly. 

Porthos folded his arms. "If you expect honesty from me, I'm gonna want it in return," he said mildly. Athos sighed and slumped against the door-frame.

"I needed a drink," he muttered. Porthos raised an eyebrow and Athos glared at him. "I haven't had anything! You interrupted me," he added in an undertone.

Porthos held his gaze seriously. "I really don't think it would be a good idea, Athos."

Athos looked uncomfortable. "I don't think I have the strength to stop right now," he admitted.

"Okay. Point taken. But it's still a bit early, don't you reckon? Especially on just a few mouthfuls of porridge. Why don't you have some tea instead?"

"Are you trying to drown me in the damn stuff?"

"Savour those tannins eh? Pretend it's a nice glass of red," Porthos grinned.

Athos snorted, but his lips tugged upwards into something that was nearly a smile. "Not entirely sure that's how it works," he muttered.

Porthos looked at him consideringly. "You really need it?" he asked softly, and Athos nodded, ashamed. Porthos sighed. "Okay. Here's the deal. How about I make us both some lunch, and if you eat it, you get to have a drink. A small one. How's that?"

Athos mulled it over, and Porthos held his breath. On one hand Athos could just ignore him - it was his house, his alcohol, his life, ultimately. On the other, letting Porthos take charge of him - perhaps that was also a beguiling temptation in its own way.

"Okay." Athos gave in, and Porthos smiled at him. 

"Thank you."

\--

Porthos made them both soup and a big slice of soft bread and butter in deference to Athos' still-sore throat, and was pleased when Athos managed nearly all of it.

"May I have a drink now?" Athos asked quietly, and Porthos sighed. 

"Yeah, I suppose." Porthos fetched ice to dilute it a little and poured him a measure of gin, to Athos' evident disgust then drowning it in tonic water.

"There you go. Look on the bright side, you won't catch malaria, eh? Practically a health drink that."

Athos took a cautious sip and made a face. "Waste of good gin if you ask me," he muttered. Holding Porthos' gaze, he deliberately went over to the sideboard and splashed another slug of gin into the glass.

"Athos!"

Athos smirked at him unrepentantly. "What? I'm guessing you're not going to let me have a second, so I might as well make the most of the first."

Porthos tried not to show his amusement. Athos looked almost triumphant, and Porthos was pleased he was asserting himself - if wishing he could have picked another method of doing so.

"Come on, let's get some fresh air," Porthos told him, and lead the way out thorough the sliding doors. They settled at the patio table in the sunshine, and Porthos realised with an odd lurch of his heart that this was the first time he'd ever sat here, in all the times Athos had tried to get him to join him.

"Feel like I should be mowing the grass or something," Porthos said with a smile, only half joking.

Athos shook his head. "Stay?" he ventured. "Talk to me. You were right, I think. I'm not sure I want to be alone in my head right now."

Porthos looked surprised. "Oh. Right. Ah - what should I talk about?" he asked, mind promptly going blank.

Athos shrugged. "Tell me about you. I hardly know anything. For all I know you could be married," he added.

"Nah." Porthos shook his head. "No, I'm single."

"And straight." It was more statement than question, but with just a hint of uncertainty.

Porthos sighed. "I thought I was. Honestly, right now, I'm not so sure any more." 

There was an awkward silence, and Porthos scrambled to fill it. 

"I live on my own. No family to speak of. Moved around a lot as a kid, foster families, that sort of thing. Never did very well at school, never had time to settle anywhere. Suddenly I was spat out the end of the education sausage machine with no qualifications and no prospects. Took what jobs I could, manual stuff mostly. Promised myself I'd make a go of things one day."

He looked at Athos, and smiled regretfully. "I'll pay you that money back," he said. "All of it. I promise."

"You don't have to do that," Athos said immediately. "You earned it."

"Athos, I didn't!" Porthos exclaimed, so vehemently he made Athos jump. "What I did - that wasn't earning a fee, that was practically extortion with menaces."

"I could always have said no," Athos pointed out.

"Could you?" Porthos asked, holding his gaze. Athos looked away first.

"I didn't want to. Say no," he admitted softly.

"Athos - " Porthos took a steadying breath. There was something he needed to know. "Tell me that wasn't your first time?"

"That wasn't my first time," Athos repeated obediently, and Porthos gave him a narrow look, unable to tell if he was being truthful or just obliging.

"Honestly?"

Athos looked up at him. "Honestly," he conceded with a slight smile, and Porthos relaxed a little. "One thing I will say though," Athos added, and waited for Porthos' nod before continuing.

"That was the worst sex I've ever had. And trust me when I say I've had some bad sex." For a second Athos' smile broadened, and Porthos gave a burst of relieved laughter. 

"God I'm sorry," Porthos sighed. "And I meant it when I said I'll pay you back."

Athos waved it away. "I don't care about the money. Just - pass your exams, okay? Pass them for me. That's all the payment I want."

Porthos nodded slowly. "Okay. Deal."

"When are they, anyway?" Athos asked. "You're not supposed to be sitting one now or something incredibly stupid like that, are you?"

"No." Porthos smiled. "They're all next week. I promise."

Athos smiled back at him, just for a second, then swirled the ice in his empty glass. "Well," he sighed. "That didn't last long." He flicked his eyes up at Porthos, who shook his head. 

"No. You can't." 

Athos pouted and Porthos laughed. 

"Maybe with your dinner. If you're good and you eat it all up."

"I'm not _five_."

"I should think not! Be no gin for you at all then, would there?"

Athos gave him a reluctant smile and Porthos reached out to cover Athos' hand with his own, where it lay on the table. 

"You're doing good," Porthos said quietly. "Okay?"

Athos gazed back at him for a long moment, then dropped his eyes with something that wasn't quite a shudder. "You frighten me," he whispered.

"What?" Porthos stared at him in consternation.

"Oh, I don't mean physically," Athos said quickly, realising how it had sounded. "I mean - it would be so easy to lose myself in you," he admitted. "Like I was lost in her. So many years - I'm not sure I know who I am any more."

Porthos patted his hand. "Then why don't we find out?"

Athos was staring at him with a kind of fearful yet tentative hope when the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house and Athos snatched his hand away, looking suddenly hunted.

"Anne," he breathed.

Porthos got to his feet and held out a hand to draw Athos out of his seat. "Come on," he said grimly. "You've got to face her sometime. And I'm right here with you."

Athos stood up and set his shoulders, a noticeable mask of hardness settling over his features. As Athos walked inside, Porthos was oddly touched to realise that however much Athos might claim to love his wife, it was Porthos and only Porthos he was prepared to show vulnerability to. 

As Athos stepped inside, he found Anne looking around the dining room in consternation. When she saw him standing there the shock on her face was plain to see and another little piece of him died. Somewhere, on some level, he'd hoped Porthos was mistaken.

"Hello dear," he said blandly. "Not dead, I'm afraid. Sorry. I did try."

Anne gaped at him, belatedly trying to school her features into some semblance of neutrality.

"Athos. Whatever do you mean?"

He shook his head. "Don't bother. You were seen, you see." Sensing Porthos step inside behind him, and come to stand at his back.

Anne stared over his shoulder, then sneered. "You." Understanding dawned, and she looked back at Athos with a curling lip. "Oh please. You're screwing the _help_? I thought even you had more pride than that."

Porthos bristled at this blatant shot at Athos' most obvious weakness, but for the moment Athos' armour was fully in place and he merely snorted.

"I wonder who gave me the idea? Oh, yes, I worked it out about you and d'Artagnan, did you really think I wouldn't? I hope you didn't traumatise the poor lad too much."

They stared at each other.

"So. Where do we go from here?" Anne asked, sensing that for some reason Athos was prepared to let slide the fact she'd left him for dead. "What do you _want_ , Athos?"

He looked at her sadly. "I think - I want a divorce," he said quietly.

Anne's gaze was level and calculating. "I want the house," was all she said. 

Athos didn't blink. "Fine. It's yours."

She relaxed a notch, gaze flickering over Porthos and dismissing him in the same second as an irrelevance. Nodded. "Very well. You'll be hearing from my lawyers." Looking back at Porthos for a second with a malicious smile. "I trust _you_ will have no problem with being named as co-respondent?"

"Bring it," Porthos growled.

With that she turned and walked out, but rather than leaving the house as they'd expected, she marched upstairs. 

Porthos closed the gap between them and slipped a protective arm round Athos' waist. He jumped but didn't pull away, and for nearly five minutes they stood there in tense silence, waiting until her footsteps came down again.

Reaching the hall with a large suitcase in one hand and a bag in the other, Anne glanced round contemptuously. "I'll expect you out within a week," she said. Athos nodded curtly, and with that, she was gone.

Once the door closed behind her Porthos felt the tension go out of Athos in a rush, and pulled him round to face him. "You alright?" 

Athos' eyes flickered to the tray of bottles and Porthos sighed. 

"Yeah. Fair enough. I ain't gonna argue, after that I could do with one meself." He poured them both a drink, and offered one of the glasses to Athos, who took it in a daze, but for the moment didn't raise it to his lips.

"She really left me to die," he said under his breath, as the enormity of it finally sank in.

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. "I'm sorry."

Athos looked at him, and Porthos realised he was starting to shake. 

"Come here." He took the glass back and set it on the table, then pulled Athos gently towards him. "You did the right thing," he murmured, folding Athos into his arms. 

"Why doesn't it feel like it?" Athos begged, face buried against Porthos' shoulder and fingers twisting into his shirt.

"It will. It will," Porthos promised. "Give it time." He rocked Athos slowly in his arms, hoping he was right.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the day passed quietly. To Porthos' mild surprise, conversation now came easily and as the hours flowed by they gradually came to understand each other a little better than before.

Conscious of Athos' plea for distraction, Porthos told him all about his early life, and then about Flea, and how it had ended, how he'd felt it wasn't what he wanted without being able to define what was missing. In return, Athos cautiously opened up about his own past, explaining that he'd inherited the family fortune when his father and brother had been killed in a house fire. 

Anne had originally been his brother's fiancée, he confessed. Before then, Athos' lovers had mostly been male, but he explained that they'd helped each other through the grief and ended up falling in love themselves. Privately, Porthos wondered if it hadn't had a lot more to do with survivor's guilt, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It explained a lot about Athos' dependency, in a way.

They sat outside for as long as the sunshine lasted then retired to the lounge, sharing a sofa, albeit occupying opposite corners. After a while Porthos made them supper, and they ate it there on their laps. Athos initially looked faintly scandalised at this suggestion and Porthos laughed at him, before being struck by a poignant image of Athos eating alone at the dining table every night, and felt overwhelmingly sad. 

He'd insisted they stay informal, sealing the deal by promising they could open a bottle of wine with the food. Athos had agreed, faintly shamefaced at his own susceptibility to bribery, but at least able to laugh at it too.

They retired early, Porthos seeing that Athos was still shattered after his ordeal. He went in to check on him once Athos had crawled under the covers, and sat down on the bed.

"Want me to stay with you?" he offered quietly. 

For a second Athos looked tempted, but shook his head. "I'll be fine," he murmured. "Thank you."

Porthos nodded. "I'll be next door then. Bang on the wall if you need me, eh?"

Athos gave him a sleepy smile, and Porthos leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before he'd really thought about what he was doing.

"Sleep well," he muttered, feeling vaguely embarrassed, and retreated hurriedly to the spare room.

Once he'd gone, Athos wrapped his arms around himself and sighed. He hardly knew if he was falling apart or falling in love, and sensed that both options might be equally as painful. 

\--

The next morning Athos came down to find Porthos already slaving over a hot stove. He made himself a cup of tea and sat at the counter, giving Porthos an inscrutable look when he put down a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

"What?" Porthos demanded. "If you tell me you don't like eggs either I'm going to shove 'em somewhere unpleasant."

Athos gave an apologetic smile. "No. It's not that. Sorry, I don't mean to seem ungrateful. It's just odd having someone else in possession of my kitchen."

"Territorial eh? What's it to be, tea towels at dawn?" Porthos grinned, although he winced inwardly. Athos was on the brink of losing his home as well as his wife, and Porthos was intruding on what he probably felt was the last area he had control over.

"I just want to make sure you eat," Porthos added quietly, by way of apology.

"I've never had a problem eating," Athos pointed out, shovelling eggs and toast into his mouth by way of illustration. 

_Just a problem with alcohol,_ Porthos thought, but he held his tongue. Athos was right, this was hardly the time to go cold turkey, not when he was having to face up to so much else. But if he knew Athos had at least lined his stomach a little first, Porthos reasoned he'd worry less when Athos was demanding a gin and tonic just to get through the morning.

"Suppose I'd better start looking for somewhere to go," Athos said, as if he'd been reading Porthos' mind. "I don't have long. I guess I could go to a hotel," he sighed unenthusiastically.

"Look, you don't have to rush," Porthos argued. "Take as long as you need. After what she did, she's not going to make waves if you want more than a week."

Athos shook his head. "I just want to get it over with."

"You can always come to mine if you get stuck," Porthos offered. "I mean, it's a bit poky, and there's only one bedroom, but you'd be more than welcome."

Athos looked startled, then smiled. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I appreciate the offer. I'm sure I can find somewhere though."

When they'd finished eating, Athos carried the plates over to the sink and Porthos followed him.

"I can do that."

"No offence, but you don't do it properly," Athos retorted. "You never bloody rinse anything. I prefer my tea not tasting of washing up liquid, thanks."

"Think of it as an internal cleanse," Porthos shot back, at the same time surrendering the field in amusement.

Athos had just finished clearing away to his satisfaction when the house phone rang. He froze, then cautiously made his way out into the hall, staring warily at the handset as if it might bite him.

Porthos realised he'd never heard it ring before. "Would you like me to get it?" he offered.

"No. No, it's fine." Athos shook himself, and picked up the receiver. "Hello? Yes, yes it is. Oh, I see. Right. Yes. Hello." His rigid posture had relaxed a fraction so Porthos made a tactful retreat to where he could no longer make out what Athos was saying, whilst still being close enough in case he was needed. He was guessing from Athos' body language it wasn't Anne's solicitor already, but the unknown caller still hadn't seemed particularly welcome. 

After a few minutes Athos came to find him, and Porthos looked up enquiringly.

"Who was that?" Realising it was quite possibly none of his business, but Athos looked shaken and yet again Porthos felt a spike of protectiveness.

"The hospital."

"Oh." Porthos' stomach lurched. "Everything okay?"

Athos nodded hesitantly. "I guess. They wanted to make an appointment for me to - to see a psychiatrist. As a follow up to - well. You know."

"That's good, isn't it?" Porthos said gently. "They're not going to lock you up," he added, seeing the worry clouding Athos' expression. "They just want to help you Athos. To make sure you're doing okay, see if there's any support you need."

"I guess." 

"You made the appointment, right?"

Athos nodded, and Porthos smiled at him. "And you'll go to it?"

Another reluctant nod, and Porthos put an arm round him and gave Athos a squeeze. "If you want me to come with you, I'm happy to," he said.

Athos sighed unhappily. "You're already doing so much for me, and I don't deserve any of it."

"Who says?" Porthos demanded. 

"Me, I guess," Athos admitted softly. "I'm sorry. I'm being such a burden. You probably wish you'd never met me."

For a second Porthos was rendered practically speechless. "If either of us has cause to think that, I'd have said it was you," he sighed. "I'm the one who screwed you over. Literally."

Athos half-smiled at that. "I don't think I could ever bring myself to regret meeting you," he murmured sadly. "No matter what happens."

It was only after he'd wandered off that Porthos realised Athos had said happens, and not _happened_. It gave him pause, and make him think seriously again about what he wanted here. Athos' words rang loud in his head - _don't make me think you care if you don't._ He did care, of course he did - but he also knew that wasn't what Athos had meant. 

It was a conundrum - how not to give Athos the wrong impression when he still wasn't sure himself what the right impression was. 

When Porthos tracked Athos down he was standing in the lounge looking round with an air of helplessness.

"Lost something?"

"I need to start packing. I just have no idea where to start."

"Tell you what," Porthos suggested. "Why don't you hire a container at one of those self-store places? We can stick what furniture you want to keep in there until you find somewhere permanent, and rent you a furnished flat in the meantime."

Athos shook his head slowly. "I don't think I want to take any of the furniture," he said quietly. "I'm not sure I want to take anything. It's kind of a sobering thought - that I could just walk out of my life and not miss anything about it."

It was far too close to what he'd already tried for Porthos' liking, and he came up and wrapped his arms round Athos' chest from behind, resting his chin on Athos' shoulder.

"Well you'll be wanting your books," he said, staying firm and practical. "And your notebooks, and your computer. I can pick you up some boxes if you'd like? And you'll need your clothes - however tidy an arse you're got we can't have you walking around naked now, can we? I assume you've got some suitcases and stuff, yeah?"

Athos turned in his arms and looked at him, to Porthos' relief a sense of purpose coming back to his face.

"You're right," Athos conceded with a deep breath. "Of course, there will be things to take. Boxes would be good, thank you."

Porthos nodded, and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll go and round some up."

\--

When he came back an hour or so later lugging an assortment of cardboard boxes from the supermarket, Athos had made a start taking things off shelves in the study. He avoided Porthos' gaze though, and Porthos was starting to know him well enough to guess that something was up.

"Athos? You okay?"

Athos looked shifty, but also torn, as if he wanted to confess something.

"I had a drink," he admitted finally. "While you were gone."

"Well - that's okay," Porthos reassured him. "You're allowed."

"I needed it." Athos gave him a quick look, full of apprehension, and Porthos took him by the shoulders. 

"Athos. Look at me. Nobody's said you can't have a drink. It's fine. I just - wanted to try and help you stick to a sensible amount, that's all." He sighed, letting his hands drop, and feeling like he was just stumbling from one bad decision to another. "I'm sorry. I never meant to give you something else to feel guilty about."

Porthos rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. "Am I just making things worse?" he asked tiredly.

Athos looked at him consideringly then, and it was a second or two before he answered.

"No," he said. "No. I - I don't think I want to be alone here. Not now."

Porthos nodded slowly, relieved that Athos at least felt his presence wasn't a complete imposition.

"You're doing fine, Athos," he said. "Hang in there, okay? That's all you've got to do. One day at a time, just keep hanging in there. You're doing great." 

And he moved forward and took Athos into his arms, throwing all ideas of proceeding with caution and not giving the wrong impression to the wind and just holding him, for the simple reason that right now Athos needed to be held.

\--

By the end of the week Athos had managed to find a furnished flat to rent on the other side of town, that he could move into right away. It was on the second floor and overlooked a park, and while it was only a one-bedroomed place, Porthos noted with a slight twinge of envy that his entire flat would almost fit into the one bedroom in question. Still, it was miniscule compared to what Athos was giving up and he tried to keep that in mind.

They rented a van and Porthos helped him move, going back and forth until finally all Athos' belongings - or at least those things he was attached enough to, to keep - had been installed in the new place.

When the donkey work had been done they shared a take-away pizza to celebrate, sitting by the window in the sun and idly watching dog walkers in the park across the street. It was only once they were done eating and Athos had cleared away, that Porthos realised with a slight jolt this was the point of goodbye. 

For almost a week he'd been staying in Athos' spare room, helping him pack, helping him look at flats, helping him keep his mind off things that might threaten to send him spiralling downwards again. Now though, he would have to go back to his own flat. Evict the life-forms evolving in the fridge, think about finding work.

"Porthos. Here." 

Athos interrupted his slightly gloomy reverie and Porthos realised with a shock he was holding out a fold of notes.

"What's that for?" he asked, startled and not moving to take the money.

"You've spent all week at my beck and call," Athos pointed out. "You've earned it."

"I didn't do it for the money!" Porthos objected, feeling hurt and angry, but also horrified that Athos thought he wanted to be paid for it. But Athos shook his head.

"I know," he said quietly. "But I also know that you told me the only reason you could do that course was because I'd been giving you extra cash. That everything else had to go on food and rent, with nothing to spare."

"But - I've paid all my course fees now?" Porthos said, bewildered. "You know that."

"So you're okay for food and rent then are you?" Athos said calmly. "Because from where I'm standing, you've not earned anything else this week."

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "It'll be tight, but I'll manage," he said stubbornly.

"You don't have to _manage_ ," Athos sighed. "Look, think of it as a severance payment. It's not like there'll be any more. I appear not to have a garden any longer. Or a pool." He held the money out again with a hopeful smile. "Or if you won't take it as wages, will you at least accept it as a gift? From a friend. Please?"

Porthos wavered. He hated to admit it, but Athos was right, he'd be horribly short of money if he didn't. Eventually he reached out and took it, hoping he didn't look too grudging and ungrateful. "Thank you," he muttered.

"Thank _you_ ," Athos said, looking relieved that he'd seen sense. "Seriously, Porthos, thank you. For everything you've done for me this week. For being there for me when I needed a friend."

Porthos nodded slowly, plucking up the courage to say what had been on his mind on and off all week. The thing he'd been turning over and over, staring at from every angle, the thing that had been keeping him awake. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure it was a good idea, but it was now or never, and it came down to a choice between his head and his gut.

"What if we could be more than friends?" Porthos asked quietly.

Athos stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Porthos cleared his throat. "You know what I mean," he said. "What if we - took this further."

"I - I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Athos stammered, and Porthos' heart sank a little. He'd assumed Athos would jump at the chance, but he looked almost frightened by it.

"Why not?"

Athos hung his head a little. "What do you want, a list?" he sighed. "I have - issues. I know that. With alcohol. A lot more than I've ever admitted to myself. And issues with depression. And self-esteem." He took a shaky breath. "Don't make me go on. What I'm saying - I'm not a good catch, Porthos."

"Well if it comes to that I'm not sure I am," Porthos declared. "I've taken a long hard look at myself lately, and I'm not at all sure I like what I see. But I'm trying to change for the better."

"I thought you were straight, anyway," Athos protested.

"No. I'm not so sure any more. I don't think I am." Porthos shrugged helplessly. "I'm not saying I know what I'm doing, but I'm willing to try."

Athos was twisting his fingers together anxiously and Porthos had to suppress the urge to take hold of his hands.

"I'm not sure I have the strength right now to be your experiment, Porthos," Athos protested sadly.

"You wouldn't be! Athos - I promise - I wouldn't hurt you. Not in any way."

Athos smiled at his vehemence, and refrained from pointing out that it was probably an impossible promise to keep. 

"Please. Can't we try?" Porthos stepped closer and finally gave in to his urge, capturing Athos' hands in his own and holding them with a gentle purpose. "What I'm saying is - I like you Athos. I like you a lot. And I think we could be good for each other."

Athos didn't reply, just looked at him with eyes full of confusion and temptation and loss. Porthos figured there was only one way to tip the balance, and cupped Athos' face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him.

It was the first time he'd ever kissed a man, but there was none of the awkwardness he'd feared. Kissing was a simple enough matter in itself after all, and it turned out kissing someone you really wanted to, held its own kind of magic. 

Athos let him, making no move to break away. He wasn't merely a passive participant either, kissing back with a soft fervour that made Porthos' heart swell with hope. But when the kiss reached its natural end, Athos stepped back and pushed Porthos gently away.

"I'm sorry, Porthos. I can't be with you."

Porthos felt his stomach sink into his boots. He couldn't blame Athos, after everything that had happened, in fact he felt it served him right. But it still hurt.

He nodded, feeling rather choked up. "I understand," he said quietly, managing a watery smile. "You're right. You deserve a lot better than me." 

Athos frowned, reaching out for him as Porthos turned away.

"Porthos - wait. I'm not sure that you do. Understand, I mean." He sighed. "It's not because of you. I like you, an awful lot, you _know_ that." He considered his next words carefully. "It's just - I've spent the last five years of my life trapped in a relationship that was slowly poisoning me. To the point that I don't really know who I am any more. If all I do is go from one relationship to another, all that’ll happen is that I transfer all my issues onto you. You'll become a crutch, and I'll be as dependant on you as I've been on Anne, and I don't think that would be a good thing for either of us."

"Athos - "

"I need to learn to stand on my own two feet," Athos said firmly. "I need to find out if I _can_."

"Nobody's saying you have to do it alone Athos," Porthos objected. "Let me help. Even if we're not - even if it's just as a friend." 

"I know you mean well," said Athos quietly. "But you don't know what it's like. What _I'm_ like. Believe me when I say I need to do this. It's just - not the right time for me to think about anything else at the moment. There isn't space in my head."

Porthos nodded reluctantly, accepting defeat. "Just promise me you'll call if you need anything," he said. "If you need me - any time of day or night, okay?"

"Okay." Athos gave him a grateful smile, but he was already visibly distancing himself, and Porthos knew with a heavy heart that he'd never call.

\--

Driving home, Porthos felt strangely bereft. It had taken a lot of courage to make his suggestion to Athos in the first place, and to be knocked back was unexpectedly painful. At the same time he had a sneaking suspicion it was only a pale shade of what he'd put Athos through with his earlier behaviour, and he just hoped Athos really did have the strength to pull himself through alone.

It wasn't as if Athos had said he never wanted to see him again, Porthos reflected. They had each other's numbers, they could surely meet up, check in with each other. 

He tried to settle to some last minute exam revision. Most evenings of the last week had been spent opposite Athos on the couch, his nose in a text book while Athos scratched away in his notebook and Porthos suddenly missed his presence even more. He stretched his bare feet out on the threadbare cushions of his own sofa and sighed. 

Athos would be fine, he told himself. 

An hour later he was in the car again, too restless to concentrate or relax, just needing to reassure himself that despite the lurid and unsettling images insistently plaguing his imagination, Athos was actually perfectly okay.

He pulled up across the road and looked up at the apartment building in the falling dusk, working out which were Athos' windows. The living room and bedroom both looked out this way towards the park, and he stared at them, wondering what to do. 

Theoretically there was nothing stopping him from going up, other than the fact Athos would be rather surprised to see him. Or he could call, or text. It just all seemed embarrassingly needy, and also demonstrated a complete lack of faith in Athos' ability to cope on his own.

As Porthos watched, a shadow passed in front of the living room window and the curtains were pulled across. A moment later a light went on in the room beyond, and Porthos relaxed. Athos was there, and fine. He started the engine and drove off, his mind for the moment at ease.

\--

It became a habit. He hadn't meant it to, but as the days trickled past and Athos made no contact, Porthos found more often than not he happened to be driving past Athos' flat just as it got dark. He would linger in the vicinity, staring up at the windows until a curtain moved, or a light went on, before going home secure in the knowledge that Athos was still okay. 

Days turned into weeks and still Athos didn't call. Porthos agonised over whether to make the first move, but ultimately didn't want to intrude. He'd made his offer clear enough, it was surely up to Athos now to decide when or if he wanted to take him up on it.

He was still driving past most nights, existing on the occasional glimpse of Athos at a window, or the glow of a lamp behind curtains. It occurred to him that this behaviour could be seen as quite stalkerish, and hoped to God that Athos never noticed his car - although part of him felt that even an irate phonecall would be better than this silence.

Finally, six weeks after having sat the last of his exams and almost two months since he'd last seen Athos, Porthos got his results in the post. Now, he figured, he at least had a genuine reason for getting in touch, some actual news to pass on that felt marginally less of a blatant excuse than everything else he'd come up with.

He sent Athos a text. _Thought you might like to know I got my exam results - passed the lot. Hope you're doing ok. Porthos._

Typing and retyping the short message several times because he couldn't decide whether to ask after Athos' wellbeing first or last, and putting his name at the end in case Athos had deleted his number - as if Athos was likely to be inundated with messages from people taking exams.

He pressed send and immediately felt stupidly sick with nerves. What if Athos was annoyed and didn't reply? What if he _did_ reply? 

Minutes crawled past and Porthos' phone stayed stubbornly silent. He relaxed by inches into faint disappointment, whilst reminding himself that it was entirely possible Athos' phone wasn't even switched on, and he might not see the message for days.

He'd just convinced himself that nothing was going to come of it when his phone buzzed on the table. He snatched it up, nearly dropped it in his haste and only then realised it was still buzzing. A phone call, not a text. 

Porthos stared at the name on the screen in astonishment, then hastily hit answer before he could hang up.

"Hello?"

"Hey," said Athos quietly. "'s me."

"Hey you." Porthos cradled the phone to his ear and curled into a chair, faintly aware he had a stupid grin on his face. "How you doing?"

"Oh, you know," Athos said vaguely. "Okay I guess. Still here, anyway."

"Glad to hear it." 

"Anyway - congratulations."

"What? Oh, yeah. Thanks." Porthos snickered. "Just thought you might like to know you got your money's worth."

Athos gave a faint laugh, and it made something warm unfurl in Porthos' gut. It had been two months since they'd spoken but it felt like two minutes, and he could picture Athos perfectly, sitting in his chair by the big picture window, maybe with his legs curled under him, an unconscious mirror of Porthos on the far side of town.

"It was nice to hear from you," Athos said quietly and Porthos felt a simultaneous lurch of elation and worry. Should he have made contact earlier? Had Athos thought he didn't care?

"I'd have called before but - I didn't want to pester you," he said apologetically.

"I'd probably have been poor company anyway," Athos sighed. "It's good to hear your voice though," he ventured after a pause.

"Did you want to meet up?" Porthos said immediately. "We could go for a dri - a coffee or something."

"Or a drink," Athos filled in, sounding faintly amused. 

"Sorry." Porthos winced. "Didn't want to put my foot in it."

"It's okay. And yes, for the record I'm still drinking," Athos said softly. "But I've got it under control, for now. I think. It's manageable."

"Good. That's good." Porthos nodded encouragingly, before remembering Athos couldn't see him. "So did you wanna meet up? I could come round, if you didn't want to go out?"

"Oh. What, you mean _now_?"

"If you like. I could be there in no time."

There was a short silence, and Porthos kicked himself, convinced he'd pushed too much and too fast.

"Yes. Okay. Why not?" Athos sounded cautious but hopeful, and Porthos was grinning again.

"Sit tight, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

\--

He made it in fifteen. 

Waiting for Athos to answer the door, Porthos was struck by a sudden wave of nerves. What if Athos had only agreed to this to humour him, and didn't really want to see him? What if he looked ill? What if - 

The door opened, and there was Athos standing there with a shy smile and looking perfectly fine. Porthos felt relief, and then vague embarrassment, that he'd been assuming Athos would be in some kind of pit of despair. The thought then occurred to him that Athos might not have called because he'd moved on entirely with his life and found someone else, and Porthos didn't much like that either.

He realised they'd been staring at each other in an awkward silence for several seconds, and cleared his throat. "Hey."

"Hey." Athos too seemed to notice the tension, and shook himself. "Come in." 

He lead Porthos into the living room and waved him to the couch. "It's good to see you," he ventured, and Porthos smiled at him in relief. 

"You too. You're looking well." He was. A little more purposeful around the eyes, and a little less pale. Porthos noticed Athos' beard was a lot fuller too, but not in an unkempt way, more as if he was experimenting with a new him.

"Can I get you a drink?"

Porthos saw that there was a bottle of red wine already open and smirked. "Started without me I see."

"I have eaten," Athos protested, a little defensively but also sounding proud of himself.

"Good. Good." 

"I do try to, now," Athos said. "It's like there's a little Porthos on my shoulder all the time, telling me off when I don't," he confessed.

Porthos grinned delightedly. "I'm glad to hear he's been keeping an eye on you." Also to know that he'd been on Athos' mind.

Athos poured him a drink, then to Porthos' slight disappointment sat down in an arm-chair rather than next to him on the sofa.

"So how's things?" Porthos asked, after a moment of silence.

Athos nodded, swirling the wine in his glass slowly. "Okay, I guess," he said. "Some days are harder than others." He sighed, conceding that was only half a truth. "All days are hard," he amended. "But - on the other hand, it's not quite as bad as I was afraid it might be, if that makes sense?"

Porthos nodded. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, it does. Although I still reckon it was a hell of a gamble doing this on your own."

"I promised myself that if things ever got so bad that - that I was considering - you know. Trying again. That I would make myself call you," Athos admitted quietly. "I like to think I would have. But - well, in the end things were never that bad. I'm - coping, I suppose. Or at least not not-coping."

Athos took a sip of wine and sat back, relaxing out of his defensive hunch a little. "I've got a shrink now," he admitted with a glimmer of humour. "Except I'm not supposed to call her that. _Therapist_. It's all very modern. I don't even get to lie on a couch." He made a face, and Porthos smiled.

"Does it help?"

Athos shrugged. "She just makes me talk, mostly. I suppose it does." He hesitated. "I've - not told her everything."

"You should," Porthos said. "She can't help properly if you're holding stuff back."

Athos hesitated. "I suppose I didn't want to talk about certain things without - without your permission."

"You have it," Porthos said immediately. "Whatever you need Athos. Please don't feel you need to keep any secrets on my account."

"Thank you." Athos looked relieved, and Porthos settled back in his own seat and regarded him with a faint smile. 

"So, what about you?" Athos asked, changing the subject. "You're a fully qualified - something, now then?"

Porthos laughed. "Yeah, well, I've got a couple of business qualifications to my name now. I guess it'll take a while before I can get an opening somewhere. Still doing manual stuff mostly."

"And you're okay? For money?"

"I'm not looking for a handout, if that's what you mean."

"No!" Athos looked stricken. "That wasn't what I meant at all." He chewed his lower lip meditatively for a second. "If you did need anything though - "

"What, you reckon I wouldn't be able to make a living as a rent boy if it came down to it?" Porthos joked, and was pleased when Athos laughed.

"Just don't ask me for a reference," Athos declared, and it was Porthos' turn to laugh. 

The awkward tension eased further with the laughter, and they smiled at each other in relief. After that, conversation came a little easier, and they relaxed into a murmured exchange of news.

When Porthos' glass was empty Athos leaned across to top it up, but he stopped him with a hasty flick of his hand.

"Better not. I'm driving," Porthos added hastily, seeing Athos' momentary look of disappointment.

"Oh, right. Okay. Um, there's coke in the fridge, if you'd like that instead?" Athos offered. He started to get up, but Porthos waved him back.

"I'll get it." He wandered into the kitchen, faintly amused to find it as spotless as the day Athos had moved in. He was scanning the cupboards, trying to remember which one they'd put the glasses in, when something perched on top of the wall unit caught his eye.

His laugh brought Athos into the kitchen to see what was going on. When he saw what Porthos was looking at, he cringed with mortification.

"Oh God. I'd forgotten that was up there."

"I recognise that fellow!" Porthos grinned. It was the bee-striped hedgehog from the garden. "I didn't realise you'd brought him with you."

Athos had gone bright red. "You gave him to me," he muttered, looking embarrassed but defiantly amused. "I couldn't bear to part with him."

Porthos looked at him with a helpless fondness. Somehow the last of the awkwardness had finally melted away, and he saw that Athos really did still feel the same about him. 

"Come here you pillock," Porthos said softly, and gathered Athos into his arms. It was a long hug, and a fierce one, Athos surrendering to his embrace with a little sigh of relief. 

"Okay," Porthos said once they'd finally disentangled themselves. "You've proved to me - and to yourself - that you can do this alone. Now let me prove to you that you don't have to. Please?"

Athos looked at him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Okay," he breathed, as Porthos pulled him back into his arms. "Okay."

\--

This time when they returned to the living room Athos sat with Porthos on the couch. By the end of the evening Athos was leaning against his side with Porthos' arm round him. It was intimate but not overtly sexual, and Athos realised he felt almost physically lighter - slowly recognising it as the relief of a burden shared, not the expected guilt of a burden transferred.

When Porthos noticed Athos was trying to hide the fact he was yawning, he got up to go. 

"I'm sorry," Athos apologised. "I'm not chucking you out."

"Nah, you're alright," Porthos said with a smile, determined not to wear out his welcome and seeing that Athos was tired. "Anyway I've got to be up at six to go and pick pubes out of some guy's pool filter, so there's that."

Athos made a face and followed him to the door. "All glamour, your job."

Porthos smiled at him. "I'll call you, yeah?"

"You'd better." 

Porthos' grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss Athos chastely on the cheek by way of saying goodnight.

He'd started this by being a brute, and now he was determined to be a gentleman.

\--

They took things slowly. Neither felt it would be a good idea to rush into anything, and Porthos was determined to be there for Athos to lean on if he needed to without romantic complications, especially as he was now going through the trauma of his divorce.

Anne had kept her word and started proceedings, although while she was filing on grounds of adultery, in the end she hadn't mentioned Porthos by name so he hadn't been dragged into the paperwork. Athos was determined to just agree to everything she wanted and get it over with quickly, although when Porthos discovered this included a reasonably large settlement as well as the house, he couldn't hide his indignance.

"Why should she get anything?" he demanded, staring at Athos across the table. They were going through the final papers, ready for Athos to sign. "After what she did."

"She didn't do anything," Athos said tiredly, and Porthos knew he should shut up but couldn't.

"She left you to die," he said stubbornly. "Absence of action is just as bad as actively hurting you."

"I just want it to be over," Athos sighed. "I don't want to have to go to court, I don't want it all dragged up in front of strangers, don't you see that? And anyway, she probably deserves it. It's not like I was a great husband."

"Athos!"

"I hurt her as much as she hurt me," Athos insisted. 

"How?" Porthos demanded, obscurely annoyed that Athos still saw himself as the one at fault. "How did you hurt her?"

"By not being the one who burned to death," Athos said flatly. In the moment of shocked silence that followed he got to his feet and went over to the window, arms wrapped around himself, staring blindly through the glass. 

Porthos came slowly up behind him and gently put his arms round Athos' waist. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't be sticking my oar in."

"No. No, I'm sorry," Athos sighed. "I want you involved. I value your opinion. I just - don't want her to be left with nothing."

Porthos snorted but kept quiet, and Athos leaned back against his chest. Porthos hugged him tighter, relieved that he was seemingly forgiven.

"Why don't we go out?" Porthos suggested after a moment. "Change of scene. You can post your papers and then we'll go and do something completely different, take your mind off it."

"Yeah, alright." 

It wasn't the world's most enthusiastic endorsement, but it was at least a yes, and Porthos would take it. "Anywhere in particular you want to go?" he asked.

Athos turned round and looked at him with a speculative expression. "Yes, actually."

"Oh, okay, great. Where?" Porthos was pleased and mildly surprised, it was normally him who had to come up with suggestions, although Athos always seemed happy enough with his choices.

"Your place."

"What?" Porthos stared at him, and Athos smirked.

"Your place. I've still not seen it. I'd like to."

Porthos fidgeted. "There's not a lot to see. What d'you want to go there for? Why don't we go and get ice cream and sit in the park instead? Look at the ducks."

Athos gave him an arch look. "I know there's a divorce in the offing but I'm not a child on a custody visit. Why don't you want me to see it?"

"It's not that." Porthos sighed. "It's just - you know. Not exactly what you're used to."

"You think I care about the size of your - accommodation?" Athos asked, with enough of a deliberate pause to make Porthos snort with laughter. 

"No, I guess not," he allowed. "It's more that it's a shit-tip and you're a bit of a clean queen."

Athos gave a huff of amusement. "I promise not to faint at the sight of your pants hanging from the light fittings. And I'm sure you can find me a clean tea-towel to sit on."

Porthos gave in, elbowing him indignantly and laughing. "It's not that bad. Oh, alright, if you must."

When the paperwork was done and signed and posted, Athos sank into a tight and preoccupied silence, and Porthos was glad they had something to distract him with. Even so, it was with a certain amount of trepidation that he ushered Athos into his flat, wishing he'd tidied up before he'd left that morning. 

The flat comprised just three rooms: a smallish kitchen-living area, a tiny bedroom that was only just big enough for the bed, and an even tinier en-suite toilet and shower. Porthos looked around, wondering what kind of first impression it gave, and realised with a wince that he'd left his dirty mug and plate from breakfast by the sink.

"Stop worrying," Athos said softly, and Porthos snapped out of his spiralling paranoia with a jolt. 

"Eh?"

"You look like you're bricking it," Athos said. "Stop worrying about what I think. It's fine." He moved closer and slipped his arms around him. "Thank you," he added quietly. "For letting me come here."

Porthos kissed him on the forehead, making him smile. 

"I should have brought you before," Porthos admitted, thinking ruefully that if he'd planned it he could have cleaned up first. "I guess I was just a bit embarrassed."

"You have no reason to be," Athos promised. "None."

"If it makes you feel at home you can do my washing-up if you like?" Porthos offered with a grin. Athos punched his arm, then leaned against him, smiling. 

"Bugger off. How about you make me a cup of tea instead?"

They spent the rest of the afternoon there settled together on the sofa, leaning against opposite sides but with their legs tangled together in the middle. Somehow it felt like Athos had always been there, and Porthos wondered if now was the time to take things further. 

They'd been dancing round each other a little up to now, more friends than anything else. Porthos still only kissed him on the cheek when he said goodbye, and Athos had never yet asked him to stay over. Despite this, there was still the sense between them that they were heading towards something more, that it just needed one of them to make the first move.

First though, there was a confession to be made. Porthos didn't want any secrets between them, and it was something that had been on his mind.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, seizing a pause in the conversation.

Athos raised his eyebrows. "Sounds ominous," he said, but he smiled, and rubbed his foot against Porthos' calf reassuringly.

"Not really. It's just - when I wasn't seeing you. Those couple of months?"

Athos nodded, wondering what was coming, assuming Porthos was going to tell him he'd slept with someone else, and steeling himself not to mind too much.

"Well I - I kept coming round," Porthos admitted, looking sheepish. "Most nights, I'd come and drive past your place. Sit outside for a while. Wait till I saw you put a light on, or close a curtain or something. Just - check you were alright." He winced. "And it sounds a bit weird, saying it out loud. Kind've stalkery. I just - wanted to be sure you were still okay, you know?"

"I know." Athos looked at him, weak with relief it hadn't been anything else, and also slightly amused by Porthos' worried expression.

"You know?" Porthos frowned, confused. It hadn't sounded like Athos was agreeing with his sentiment, it had sounded more like - 

"I saw you," Athos admitted, trying not to laugh. "Well, I saw your car."

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "Must be loads of rusty blue Saabs in town," he muttered.

"Probably," Athos agreed. "Probably not so many that would drive past my flat every night though."

"Why didn't you say something?" Porthos asked plaintively. "You should have called me. I'd've come up."

Athos sighed. "I rather assumed that if you wanted to come up, you would," he admitted.

Porthos winced. All the times he'd thought about it - why hadn't he?

"You didn't mind though?" he asked cautiously. "That I was watching you?"

Athos shook his head. "No. Actually, it made me feel safe," he confessed. "Knowing you were there. Knowing - knowing you cared." 

Porthos reached out and took his hand, and they smiled at each other a little shakily. 

"We've both been a bit stupid, I reckon," Porthos said slowly. 

"I can't disagree." Athos was still smiling at him, and Porthos' stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. It was if something had clicked into place. All his doubts had gone, about whether this was what he wanted, about whether it was something he was ready for. 

When he drove Athos home that night, Porthos walked him up to the door of his flat and this time, for the first time, when he kissed him goodbye it was on the lips. 

It was soft, and sweet, and just a questioning brush of lips against Athos' mouth, but when he pulled away Athos was smiling and his eyes were full of light. 

\--


	5. Chapter 5

"I've been thinking," Athos announced one evening not long after, when they were once more curled up together on the sofa in his flat.

"Oh yes?" Porthos gave him a look of wary amusement. 

"I might go on holiday."

Porthos blinked. Of all the things that had crossed his mind, that hadn't even been on the list. 

"Okay." He gave Athos an encouraging nod. "Where to?"

Athos shrugged. "I hadn't really got that far. Nowhere long-haul. Maybe just go to the seaside for a couple of weeks."

There was something adorably old-fashioned about the way he put it that made Porthos smile.

"I'll miss you," he said softly. 

Athos looked at him. "Thing is - I was rather hoping you might come with me?" he ventured.

Porthos was startled. "Athos. I'd love to, but - I can't really afford - "

"I'll pay," Athos interrupted hastily. "For everything. Really, you don't have to worry about that."

"A kept man huh?" Porthos teased, not quite sure how he felt about it.

"Nothing wrong with that," Athos smiled, and gave him wistful eyes. "Please say yes?"

Porthos sighed, then grinned. "Oh - alright then." It was stupid to make a fuss about the money when he'd only end up hurting Athos by doing so. 

Athos practically beamed at him, and Porthos laughed, putting an arm around him. "Come on then. Where are we going?"

"Let's find somewhere." Athos had recently invested in a sleek new laptop to replace the rather clunky desktop computer he'd been using for years, and he went to fetch it now, pulling up some holiday cottage sites.

"I suppose the first question is," Porthos said slowly as they looked through the option filters, "places with one bedroom or two?"

Athos looked sideways at him. "I - guess that's up to you," he offered.

Porthos looked back at him. "Is it?" he asked. "Because if it is, I warn you, I'm going to pick places with only one."

A slight flush spread across Athos' face, but he looked pleased. "Okay then," he nodded.

"Sure?" Porthos studied him, aware that this was a rather odd way of asking someone if they wanted to sleep with you, but grateful that it took some of the awkwardness out of it.

Athos met his eyes, and nodded. "I'm sure," he said quietly. Porthos grinned at him, and pulled Athos back into the crook of his arm.

Three quarters of an hour later they'd picked a cottage and Athos had booked and paid for it on his credit card. It was a pretty looking place, an ex-coastguard cottage in a row overlooking the sea - with just one bedroom. They would go at the weekend, four days from now, and there was already a building sense of anticipation at the thought of what they'd silently committed to. 

Porthos turned to Athos as he carefully lowered the laptop to the floor, and smiled at him. Athos caught him looking when he turned round, and blushed automatically at the look on Porthos' face. 

"What?"

"Come here." Porthos slowly pulled him closer, holding his gaze. Giving Athos time to figure out what he was going to do, and back off if he wanted to.

Athos though, let himself be drawn in without protest, lifting his arms to twine them instinctively around Porthos' neck as Porthos leaned in to kiss him.

It was a kiss that lasted for over an hour. By then they were both lying full length in each other's arms on the couch, kissing and smiling and kissing some more, unhurried and languid. 

Athos watched Porthos through sleepy and contented eyes, making up his mind about a question that had been niggling at him. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah. Course." Porthos looked enquiring.

"Would rather I shaved?"

Porthos raised his eyebrows. "Shaved what?"

Athos gave him a wide-eyed look, then caught the glint of mischief in Porthos' face and spluttered with laughter, slapping him on the chest. 

"My beard, you twat," he said. "Would you prefer me clean shaven?"

"What, so I can pretend you're a tart, you mean?" Porthos asked. "No. And don't you ever let me get away with anything like that. I like you just as you are, Athos. No big gay freak-outs, I promise," he added, recalling Flea's accusation with a faint smile.

"Okay." Athos smiled back, reassured. "I just thought I'd check." 

Porthos ruffled Athos' increasingly bushy beard with the back of his fingers and kissed him again. Part of him wondered whether this extended make-out session could be extended even further, into the bedroom say, but at the same time he sensed it would be a mistake to rush things, even now. 

They seemed to have set a date for it in any case, and Porthos got a thrill just from the thought of it. Athos had been right, he mused. Getting out of town for a while was a good idea. Maybe one day they could even move somewhere else entirely. Make a fresh start together.

He was getting ahead of himself, he realised. But as he kissed Athos goodnight - rather more passionately than he ever had before - Porthos knew without regret that he'd lost his heart to Athos beyond all hope of recall.

\--

The next few days seemed to fly past, and Porthos felt like he'd barely had time to blink before he was knocking on the door of Athos' flat to pick him up. Athos had offered to put Porthos on the insurance for his own car, which was in rather better condition than Porthos', primarily because Athos rarely drove it anywhere, but Porthos had declined, feeling more confident at the wheel of his own. It had a bigger boot than Athos' anyway, he'd argued, and Athos hadn't pressed the matter. 

When Athos opened the door, Porthos got a surprise. Athos had shaved after all - not completely, but back to the more refined and sculpted lines of the beard he'd had when Porthos first met him.

"Morning gorgeous." Porthos leaned in for a kiss. “Ready to go?"

"Nearly. Come on in." Athos beckoned him inside and Porthos followed, giving him a quizzical frown of enquiry. 

"You didn't shave because of me?" Porthos asked. Privately he thought it looked a lot better but he'd never say as much. To his relief, Athos shook his head. 

"No. Actually - I ran into an old friend. And, well, she said I looked like I was hiding a badger in it. So - I figured it was maybe time for a trim."

Porthos stared at him in surprise. "Woah. That came out of left field."

"That I have a friend?" Athos gave him innocent eyes that had a hint of amusement in them. He'd known his words would spark interest.

"And a lady friend to boot!" Porthos teased.

"Constance and I were at uni together. We lost touch when I got married. Anne - didn't like me having female friends, even very platonic ones." Athos sighed. "It was my therapist's suggestion, if you must know. Said it wasn't healthy only having one friend, and I should maybe try getting in touch with some old ones. See if they forgave me for ditching them."

"She did _not_ put it like that?"

"Well, that was the gist." Athos' lips twisted in a smile. "Anyway, I managed to find Connie on Facebook - "

" _You're_ on Facebook?" Porthos interrupted with an amused laugh.

"I am now." Athos gave him a shove. "Shut up. Anyway, as I was saying, Constance was quite pleased to hear from me, as it turned out. We went for coffee."

"Actual coffee?"

"Actual coffee," Athos smiled. "And cake." He stared down at his hands, taking a breath. "Do you mind?" he asked, in a smaller voice.

"Course I don't mind you dipshit. I'm pleased for you." Porthos hugged him. "What does she reckon to you seeing me?" he added, after a pause.

"Constance?" Athos looked confused, and Porthos shook his head.

"Nah. Your therapist." Guessing that by now Athos would have relayed the whole sorry tale of what he'd done.

"She is - officially supportive of me making decisions for myself," Athos said carefully. "Ones where I've thought through all the possible repercussions."

"Meaning she thinks it's a terrible idea?"

"More or less," Athos sighed. Porthos hugged him again.

"I don't blame her."

"Do you think it's a terrible idea then?" Athos asked, rather anxiously.

"No, of course not, I'm just saying - I can see how it would look. To someone else." He pulled Athos to him and gave him a kiss. "I'll promise you again, that I'll never hurt you Athos," he said solemnly. "But if you ever think I'm close, or I do it without meaning to, you have to tell me, okay? Promise me."

Athos nodded, and Porthos kissed him again, more slowly and intently this time, enjoying the way Athos relaxed bonelessly into his arms, moulding himself against Porthos' body. He forgot sometimes, that Athos had once been a sexually confident young man, and wondered what he'd been like back then, before the shock of losing his family, and the ensuing years of his desiccating marriage. 

Not that it mattered. It was Athos in the here and now that he was becoming more and more besotted with.

Porthos made himself comfortable on the sofa and watched Athos pottering around, washing up his tea mug and packing the last bits and pieces he needed. It would take them about half a day to get where they were going, and there was no particular rush. And then tonight - he bit his lip, sucking it thoughtfully into his mouth. Tonight he had one seriously poor performance to make up for.

\--

The house was on the end of a row of white-washed cottages overlooking the sea. They parked on the road below and carried their things up a steep flight of granite steps, pausing for breath in the little courtyard garden at the front, looking back at the view. 

Below them the sea was flat calm and sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Up to the left, a headland stretched out with the top of a lighthouse just visible over the trees, and to the right the bay curved away down to the scatter of houses making up the town. There was just enough of a sea breeze to make it feel airy without being cold, and overhead the gulls screamed in welcome.

Inside was cosy, just two rooms downstairs and two on the first floor, with comfortably old-fashioned furniture and a modern shower and kitchen. They unpacked, sharing shy smiles as they each put things in the two little bedside cabinets. It felt domestic and fun and rather like they were playing house. 

They'd stopped off on the way in to stock up on groceries, and once they'd settled in and explored every inch of the place, Porthos cooked them a meal. 

Afterwards they sat outside with the rest of the wine and watched the sun going down. It was unseasonably warm, and they sat there for some time in the gathering dark, watching the colours fade from the sky.

Eventually Porthos stretched, and looked sideways at Athos. "Time to go in?" It wasn't all that late, or cold, but he was hoping there might be other things on the agenda than a couple of hours of crap tv.

Athos though, seemed a little tense. "There's still some wine left," he objected, and reached out to refill Porthos' glass. 

Porthos put his hand over it. "Not for me, thanks. I've had enough. Anyway, it'll keep 'till tomorrow."

Athos visibly hesitated, torn between pouring himself some and wondering whether Porthos had meant his words to apply to him as well. Had Porthos meant he thought _Athos_ had had enough?

Porthos came to his rescue. "You have some if you want," he said softly. "We're on holiday right? We can do what we like."

Athos gave a jerky nod of thanks, and poured the rest into his glass. 

"You alright?" Porthos asked, realising that Athos seemed strangely reluctant to meet his eyes.

"Yeah. Course." Athos smiled but he still looked tense, and Porthos suddenly wondered if he was nervous. He reached over and quietly took Athos' hand in his. 

"Nice here, isn't it?" Porthos murmured, staring out into the dark. There were still occasional gulls calling overhead, and far out at sea they could see the lights of ships.

"Yes. Yes, it is." Athos relaxed a little, squeezing Porthos' fingers in gratitude. They sat there a while longer until it really was too dark to see, and Athos had finished the wine.

Back inside the cottage, Porthos waited patiently while Athos insisted on washing up the glasses, then pulled him into his arms and kissed him thoroughly. Athos didn't protest, but there was definitely a hunted look in his eyes when Porthos suggested getting an early night.

Porthos caught it. "Would you rather I slept down here?" he offered quietly. The sofa wasn't huge, but he figured he could take the cushions off and sleep well enough on the floor. He'd slept in worse places. 

"No. No, don't be daft." Athos took a deep breath and smiled. "Come on."

Athos lead the way up the stairs and was first in the bathroom. By the time Porthos had finished in there Athos was already in bed, curled up facing away from him. 

Undressing, Porthos debated whether or not to take everything off. It looked like Athos was still wearing at least a t-shirt so he left his boxers on, climbing in carefully behind him.

He snuggled up behind Athos, putting an arm round his waist and nuzzling his neck. Athos smiled, but he didn't turn round, and Porthos stopped. 

"Long day, huh," he whispered. "The sea air makes you tired, I reckon."

"Yeah," Athos breathed, and Porthos could feel the tension in his shoulders.

"Is this okay?" Porthos asked, still under his breath. "Would you rather I wasn't touching you?"

Athos stiffened further, and Porthos was about to withdraw his arm when Athos practically pounced on it, hugging it against his chest and lacing his fingers into Porthos'. 

Porthos laughed, and settled down more comfortably against him. As long as Athos was happy, he was happy, whether there was sex or not. It crossed his mind that he should probably say as much, but somehow the moment didn't call for it. He could feel Athos relaxing against him, and that told him all he needed to know. Athos trusted him, and that thought alone was enough to send him to sleep with a smile on his face.

\--

Athos woke the next morning to sunshine streaming in through a gap in the curtains, and Porthos' warm presence at his back. He turned over carefully and blinked to find that Porthos was already awake, and smiling at him.

"Morning," Porthos murmured.

"Morning." Athos pushed a hand through his hair and smiled back, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

"What for?" 

"I fell asleep," Athos said, skirting the issue of his sudden paralysing attack of nerves.

"Good place to do it." Porthos grinned at him and leaned over to peck him on the lips. "You want a cup of tea?" He made to roll out of bed, but Athos reached out and grabbed his arm, drawing him back.

"Wait. Don't go yet." Athos pulled Porthos down for another kiss, soft and yielding. 

Porthos gave a murmur of appreciation, gathering Athos into his arms and deepening the kiss, with Athos pressing against him in open approval as it slowly became more heated.

Porthos let his hand slide underneath Athos' t-shirt, skimming the warm skin of his belly and making him squirm with pleasure. Athos fumbled with the material, trying to pull it out of the way and when Porthos realised what he was doing, he helped him take it off completely.

They chucked it out of sight and came back together, chest to bare chest now, all breathy kisses and urgent hands. Porthos was already helplessly, achingly hard and worried briefly that Athos wouldn't like it, but then he felt a hand slide down the back of his boxers and nearly choked with surprised laughter.

Bright eyes looked up at him from under tousled hair, full of mischief, and Porthos took the opportunity to climb on top of him, keeping his full weight off but covering Athos with his body. 

Athos let out a shaky sigh, but from the way he was clutching Porthos against him it wasn't one of protest. Porthos also discovered that Athos was as hard as he was, and rubbed against him slowly, causing Athos to give out little strangled noises of arousal. Athos' hands were both in Porthos' underwear now, stroking the curve of his arse, following the damp line of his hip, burrowing between their bodies to tease his cock. 

With Athos' help, Porthos wriggled out of his boxers altogether to give Athos better access, and gave a sighing groan of pleasure when Athos' hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking him.

Porthos hooked his fingers into the top of Athos' boxers and kissed him. "Can I take yours off too?" he asked quietly. Athos nodded and helped him pull them down, opening his arms again eagerly to let Porthos settle back against him. 

Both naked now, they pushed against each other with a lazy heat, gasping and laughing as they drove each other closer and closer to the edge. Porthos felt almost dizzy; in a way, despite everything, he'd never expected it to be like this, never truly imagined he could be so honestly and intensely turned on by the feeling of another man's cock pressed against his.

Athos had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and Porthos feathered kisses to his exposed throat, drawing his weight slowly up the length of him, loving the way he shuddered from the sensations.

"I'm going to come." Athos made it sound like a guilty confession, and Porthos wrapped his arms around him, never letting up the movement of his hips.

"Come then. Come for me Athos. It's alright."

"God. Oh God." Athos clung to him, tensed from head to foot and breathing hard through his nose. Porthos felt him come, a sudden wet warmth spurting up his belly and chest and held him tighter, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his gasping mouth, until Porthos found he was coming too with a helpless groan, his seed mingling with Athos' on their sweat-damp skin.

They lay in each other's arms, slowly recovering their breath and working up the energy to clean themselves up.

"You okay?" Porthos whispered, kissing Athos on the side of the head.

"Yeah," Athos said softly, looking up and nodding. "You?"

"Yeah." Porthos smiled at him. "More than okay." 

Athos nestled closer into his arms and hummed contentedly. "You know I wouldn't mind that cup of tea now," he declared.

Porthos snorted with laughter, and threatened to spank him.

\--

After showering (discovering to their annoyance that they'd be forced to do it one at a time due to the cramped dimensions of the cubicle), and a quick breakfast, they ventured out to explore the little town.

It was a charming sprawl of narrow cobbled streets hidden behind a garish seafront of amusement arcades and bucket-and-spade shops. They passed a happy few hours wandering in and out of the shops and galleries, before Porthos allowed Athos to lure him into a pub, on the understanding that they would have a late lunch alongside their beer.

They ate fish and chips sitting looking down at the beach, and watching storm clouds roll in from out at sea.

"No wonder it's been so muggy," said Porthos, unsticking his shirt from his back and flapping the cotton to move some air around. "We should probably think about getting back. I think we're going to get pissed on."

"We could just stay here?" Athos suggested, and Porthos gave him a stern look. "No? Oh well, worth a try." He gave in with a laugh, and offered Porthos his hands to pull him up from the table. 

They nearly made it, were making their way up the cliff road towards the cottages when the storm hit. Neither of them was wearing anything more waterproof than a fleece, and Porthos was only in his shirtsleeves. They started running through the rain, laughing and shouting as the large cold drops beat down on them, soaking them to the skin in a space of a few yards.

They stumbled up the wet steps, skin stinging from the pelting rain, and Athos fumbled with the door key, almost falling over the threshold in his haste to get inside.

Finally out of the downpour they stood dripping on the tiles and looked at each other, starting to laugh again. The first crash of thunder made Athos jump and Porthos pulled him into his arms, kissing him hard. The ferocity of the breaking storm seemed to lend an extra level of exhilaration to proceedings, and Athos broke off the kiss to look up at him.

"Take me to bed?" he asked.

Porthos gave him a feral grin, but also held him back a moment to check. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." Athos murmured it against his lips, tasting of rain and, faintly, salt and vinegar. "Fuck me," he said, shaping the words deliberately against Porthos' mouth. "I've always wanted to fuck in a thunderstorm."

Porthos needed little convincing, and let Athos pull him up the stairs to the bedroom. Athos pushed the lattice-paned window wide open to listen to the rain, then stripped off his clothes to the background accompaniment of thunder and lightning.

Porthos fetched the condoms and lube he'd secreted in his spongebag and laid them out on the bed, Athos dropping down next to him before he could fret too long about whether he knew what he was doing.

Athos was warm and naked in his arms, and they sprawled out in the bedclothes, enjoying each other's touch.

"Athos?" 

"Mmmn?" Athos arching his back as Porthos ran his fingertips down his spine.

"Tell me - show me, what to do?" Porthos asked quietly. "Can you? So I don't hurt you."

Athos smiled slowly, and kissed him. "Of course I can," he said, trailing fingers down Porthos' belly until his hand was circling Porthos' hard cock. It lingered there far too briefly for Porthos' liking, then Athos was lying back with the lube and Porthos watched as he began to slowly finger himself open.

It was a sensual and unhurried process, and Porthos was vaguely conscious that his mouth was hanging open for most of it. Athos kept his gaze modestly lowered; this meant his eyes were mostly fixed on Porthos' cock, the current state of which reassured him Porthos was very happy with what he was seeing.

Athos added more lube, his hand working between his legs until his thighs were sticky with it.

"You want to skin one on?" he asked after a while, and Porthos hurriedly complied, his shaking hands fumbling with the wrapper. Athos leaned over with the lube himself and squeezed out a healthy palmful, working it up Porthos' cock until he was as slippery as an eel.

Porthos was hard as hell and ready to go, but he was also coming to a horrible and unavoidable realisation, and it stopped him in his tracks. 

"Oh God," Porthos said, as it finally dawned on him just how pitiful his attempts had been the first time. "Oh God I really fucked up didn't I? Christ how much did I hurt you?"

He'd only used a fraction of the amount of lube Athos had already gone through, and he hadn't prepared him at all. Porthos had known deep down he'd been too rough, and the comments made at the hospital had hammered that home - but up to now he hadn't truly thought about it in real terms, about how bad it must have been for Athos.

"Porthos? Porthos, stay with me." Athos sat up, hastily wiping his hands on a wad of tissues and cupping his face. "Don't think about then, think about now. I want this, okay? I want you." Athos kissed him, staring intently into his eyes. "Fuck me," he whispered. "Fuck me, Porthos. I trust you. I want you."

Porthos let himself be drawn down, let Athos guide his still treacherously hard cock between his legs. Athos lay back, hitching his knees up out of the way and spreading himself as best he could as Porthos hesitantly lined up and pushed inside him. 

Porthos held his breath, watching Athos intently for any sign of discomfort or pain as he moved deeper. Athos reached out and pulled him closer, locking them together in a hot embrace, his own body trembling from the shuddering breaths he was taking. 

"You okay?" Porthos asked, and Athos nodded wordlessly. Porthos wasn't especially hurting him, but he _was_ big, and it took a while to get used to. But now Porthos was moving inside him with an infinite gentleness, a slow slide of warm heat that made Athos shiver with arousal and need.

It was a gradual build up this, the sensations from endless kissing and touching inching them closer to climax, in contrast to the fury of the storm outside. When Athos finally came it wasn't from the robust fucking he'd expected, but from Porthos' drawn out, almost silent demonstration of worship, patience and tenderness, and the force of his orgasm took him by surprise. 

Athos shook in Porthos' arms, barely aware of Porthos' own climax, hardly able to think or breathe. He clutched at Porthos in near panic, his chest tight and his mind overwhelmed. Porthos' voice was a concerned, incomprehensible murmur in his ear, but his arms were strong around him, and Athos held on for dear life.

He hadn't bargained on this, had thought he'd processed all his buried feelings after what had happened between them before. His guilt, his fear. His sick sense of shame.

"It's okay. It's okay. I've got you." Porthos cradled Athos against him, not knowing what else to do, rocking him anxiously, and kissing his hair. Gradually, Athos came back to himself a little, and blinked up at him.

"Tell me what to do," Porthos whispered. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"Just hold me," Athos managed, and was relieved when Porthos just nodded and continued to comfort him. He was already feeling severely embarrassed by his own overreaction, he'd known Porthos was nervous about doing this and Athos was cross with himself for ballsing it up at the last minute. He hadn't realised quite how much he'd still been repressing, or bargained on any of it coming out at such an inconvenient time.

For now he just held on to Porthos, and concentrated on remembering how to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Porthos said quietly, after Athos had calmed down a little. "For what I did, before. For hurting you. I don't think I've ever apologised, for that. Not properly. I'm sorry Athos."

Athos looked up at him and swallowed. He nodded. "Thank you." 

Porthos nodded back solemnly, and kissed him on the forehead. 

"You know - this was all I wanted," Athos blurted in an undertone.

"What?"

"If you'd just held me - before, when - if you'd just held me afterwards - maybe it would all have been okay." He felt a sudden spill of tears run down his cheek and dashed them away with his hand, struggling to sit up. "Shit. Shit, I'm sorry."

Porthos pulled him back into his arms, hushing him softly. 

"I can't take back what I did," Porthos said soberly. "But I can hold you now. I can hold you forever. I love you Athos."

Athos stared at him in bewildered hope. "You - do you mean that?"

"Yes. With all my heart." Porthos held his gaze, offering him a tentative smile. "Is that okay?"

Athos gave a jerky nod. "I love you too," he confessed. "I think I always have. I was just never able to admit it before."

"I didn't deserve it. Not before." Porthos half laughed. "Not sure I do now, come to that."

They smiled at each other, both nearer to tears than they cared to admit then kissed each other gently, almost formally, the sealing of a pact. 

Having cleaned each other up, they settled back under the covers and held each other for a long time. Conversation and confidence came back slowly as outside the thunder rolled in the distance, more quietly now as the storm moved away. The rain was lighter too, and the air felt fresher.

"So how was I?" Porthos asked eventually, only half joking. "Better than last time? God I hope so."

"I think we can safely say that," Athos agreed, with a quiet huff of laughter.

"Scale of one to ten? If before was zero? Minus zero."

"I don't know," Athos mused. "Five?"

"Five!"

"Six then," Athos offered, but Porthos wasn't to be mollified.

"No, no, five it is," he declared, looking indignantly amused. "I can take that on the chin. Fair enough. Room for improvement, I can work with that."

"Still a big leap from minus-zero," Athos pointed out, and Porthos laughed loudly. 

"Yeah, guess that's right." 

"Do you really love me?" Athos asked suddenly, as if afraid the answer might have changed.

"I love you," Porthos confirmed. "And I am prepared to spend a lifetime proving how much."

\--


	6. Chapter 6

"Can I practice on you?"

Athos looked up from where he was curled against Porthos' side on the sofa, reading a book.

"I assume you're not talking about braiding my hair?" 

"No." Porthos could feel his face burning, but he bravely held Athos' amused eyes. He figured he needed to get used to the things he had to do, to get comfortable with it all in a more relaxed setting than the rushed imperative of imminent sex. "Can we play?"

"Course we can." Athos smiled at him, putting down his book and taking Porthos' hand instead, toying speculatively with his fingers. "We can do anything you like."

They moved upstairs to the bedroom and undressed, smirking as they watched each other's cocks go from flaccid to a state of rigid attention purely from the anticipation. 

Athos handed Porthos the lube and lay back on the bed. "How do you want me?" 

"Daily?" Porthos laughed. "Vigorously? Constantly?"

"I'm all yours." Athos pulled him down for a kiss and for a while they did nothing more than that, pressing together and enjoying the sensations.

Eventually Porthos picked up the lube again and Athos tried not to laugh at the look of concentration on his face.

"There's not a lot to it," Athos promised. "Unless it's the squick factor that's bothering you?"

Porthos shook his head firmly. "I just don't want to hurt you," he admitted.

Athos took Porthos' hand and made a show of examining the length of his nails, making him laugh. "You'll do," Athos pronounced with a grin. 

"Shut up and spread 'em," Porthos growled, and Athos did as he was told with a look of delight. 

They experimented with a few different positions before they found the one that worked best; Porthos wanted to be able to see what he was doing, and they settled with Athos on his back, legs splayed around him, one knee hitched up to give him access.

"I feel like I'm giving birth," Athos objected, when Porthos had spent rather longer staring at his arsehole than he was comfortable with. "If you hang about much longer with me in this position I'll fart, and then you'll regret it."

Porthos snickered. "Don't you dare." He stirred himself though, and carefully pushed one slick finger up inside him.

Athos smiled at him, squirming slightly but nodding encouragement when Porthos glanced up to check this was okay. Porthos worked his finger further in, thrusting gently in and out. He'd been secretly worried he'd find it revolting but instead he was captivated by the feeling, and bent to the task.

Several minutes and quite a bit more lube later, Porthos had two fingers inside him, and Athos had his eyes closed and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

"Is this okay?" Porthos asked in a low voice. Athos hadn't complained once, but he couldn't help being anxious.

"Mmmn," Athos smiled. "It's nice." He lifted his hips and pushed down onto Porthos' rocking fingers, sucking in a fluttery breath.

Porthos watched him, slowly coming to the realisation that this wasn't just about the mechanics of preparing him for sex, but that he could give Athos as much pleasure with his fingers as he had Flea. 

He started being a bit more creative, changing the depth and angle of his movements, seeing what Athos liked best, what left him gasping, and what made him moan. 

Athos' eyes were open again now, looking down at him almost in surprise as he realised what Porthos was doing, that he wanted to make him come like this. He relaxed into it, tugging his own cock slowly, and being a little more vocal about what was going on. 

Porthos nodded eagerly at Athos' quiet directions, trying to replicate things he'd managed by accident, and grateful for the encouragement. Athos was almost writhing under his touch now, and at his insistence Porthos gave him three fingers, delving wet and slick inside him, amazed by what he was doing, what Athos was taking. 

"Fuck. Yes. Oh God. There - just - oh - _fuck_." Athos came hard, shooting all over his stomach and jerking himself hard until there was nothing left to give. He collapsed bonelessly back on the bed, panting and laughing.

"Fuck. That was amazing." He beckoned Porthos down for a heated and grateful kiss, before they both sat up and cleaned themselves up with copious wet wipes. 

"Thank you," Athos told Porthos, delivering another heartfelt kiss. 

Porthos beamed at him. His own cock was still thick and hard against his belly, and Athos nodded at it.

"Would you like me to suck you?" he offered.

"Ye-ah!" Porthos said eagerly, then hesitated. "I mean - only if you want to?"

Athos smiled. "I want to," he confirmed. "I like doing it."

Porthos smiled back, relieved. "You're very good at it," he said. 

"Am I?" Athos looked a little surprised, and Porthos nodded.

"Bloody incredible. I should have told you before really," he added, a little shamefaced.

"You weren't all that big on communication at first," Athos said dryly. Porthos winced.

"Would you rather I didn't bring up stuff from before?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's good, I think. To acknowledge that stuff. To talk about it. If you're okay with that?"

"Yeah," said Porthos quietly. "That's okay. If you are."

In answer, Athos just crawled on hands and knees to settle between his legs, and proceeded to suck him off in the most mindblowing way possible.

\--

After a pleasant afternoon of walks on the beach followed by a triumphant evening in bed during which Athos, laughing, had awarded Porthos an eight and a half and Porthos had performed a naked handstand against the bedroom wall in celebration, Porthos woke the following day in high spirits, feeling that all was right with the world. Athos, though, seemed unexpectedly listless and snappish, turning down all Porthos' suggestions for things they could do with their day. 

Eventually Athos took himself off to sit huddled in his fleece on the bench in the garden, looking miserable and troubled.

Porthos ventured out after him and cautiously sat down beside him, having already felt the sharp side of Athos' tongue that morning.

"Athos? What's wrong?" he asked gently.

"Nothing." Athos folded his arms, looking sulky. 

"If you don't tell me, I can't help," Porthos coaxed.

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," Athos insisted frustratedly. "Nothing concrete," he sighed, some of the tension going out of him. "Not like you mean. I can't - put it into words, I can't explain something when I don't really know myself. It's not you, okay?" he added, reaching out to briefly grip Porthos' hand. "It's just - like I said. Some days are better than others. For no reason at all."

Porthos shifted closer and put his arm round Athos' shoulders. "Tell me how to help. Tell me what you need," he amended quickly, seeing Athos' expression. "Even if that's to fuck off and leave you in peace."

"I need you to stop asking how to fix me," Athos said quietly.

"I wasn't!" 

"That's what it feels like." Athos gave him a tired smile, and Porthos looked contrite.

"Sorry. Okay. Anything else?"

Athos shrugged. "Just - put up with me when I'm being a scratchy bastard?" he ventured hopefully.

Porthos hugged him. "Always," he promised, and kissed Athos on the side of the head. "Is that all?" Wincing as soon as he said it, because it felt like he was immediately doing what he'd just been asked not to, but Athos leaned his head on Porthos' shoulder for a moment in a gesture of grateful affection. 

"Cup of tea'd be nice?" he said, understanding that Porthos needed to feel useful. 

"Cup of tea it is." Porthos got to his feet and hurried off. Athos watched him go with a sigh. 

Five minutes later Porthos was back with two mugs, but hesitated before joining Athos on the bench. "Would you rather be alone?"

Athos shook his head. "No, it's fine. Just - "

"Be quiet, I know," Porthos smiled and sat down beside him. After a second Athos leaned against his shoulder, and Porthos carefully put his arm round him again.

\--

Later that night when they were getting into bed, Athos sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry about today," he said. "It was a washout."

Porthos shook his head. "You just let me know, eh," he said quietly. "Those days where you need me to be on tea duty. And I'll understand."

Athos smiled at him. "Thank you," he said softly. 

Porthos opened his arms to him hopefully. "Can we snuggle?" 

"Yeah. We can snuggle." Athos wriggled into his arms, this time when he sighed it was happier.

"I love you," Porthos whispered.

"Even today?" Athos asked, only half joking.

"Especially today," Porthos told him. "Why would I love you less when you need it more?"

"I love you too," Athos managed, sounding suspiciously choked up, and Porthos squeezed him tight and kissed him on the forehead, more determined than ever to make this work. 

\--

If the first week of their holiday had been an experiment in living together, the second week was an experiment in giving each other a little more space. They'd been virtually joined at the hip for days, and it was perhaps this that spawned the ensuing argument. While hardly the first time they'd come into conflict, it was the first fight they'd had as a couple, and was correspondingly painful.

Neither of them really knew what had started it, just petty annoyances blown up out of all proportion that caught Athos on a day he was feeling low and Porthos when he was feeling stifled. It wasn't initially a shouting match, but Athos was becoming more and more acidic, and Porthos recognised with a spike of irritation that it was exactly the tone he used to take with Anne. He lost his temper, and yelled at Athos to stop behaving like a little prick.

He'd expected Athos to shout back, but he just went white and sat down heavily, as if all the breath had gone out of him.

Wrongfooted, for a second Porthos just stared at him in consternation, his anger bleeding away as he took in Athos' expression and realised he looked almost frightened.

"Athos?"

"I'm sorry." It was a barely audible breath, and Athos wouldn't look at him, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

"No - no, no, Athos it's okay." Porthos sat down beside him and put a hand over Athos', feeling guilty. " _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I didn't mean it, it's okay, really."

Athos risked meeting his eyes. "You're not angry?" he ventured, still in an undertone.

"I'm not angry," Porthos promised. "I'm sorry, it was a thoughtless thing to do, I shouldn't have shouted at you. I just assumed you'd shout back. It was a stupid argument that's all. It didn't mean anything." He gave Athos a smile of hope and apology. "I still love you?"

He expected Athos to laugh at that but instead he just looked genuinely relieved, and Porthos felt guiltier than ever. He put his arm round Athos and hugged him close. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

Athos shook his head, pressing into Porthos' arms. "It's okay," he said in a small voice. "As long as - as long as I know. That you don't mean it."

"I promise," said Porthos, kissing the top of his head. "I promise whatever stupid shit I say, I will always love you Athos, and nothing's going to change that. I can't promise I'll never fuck up, or that I'll never get mad, but it won't ever mean I don't care about you."

"I'm sorry," Athos murmured. "I know I'm difficult to live with sometimes."

Porthos groaned. "No you're not," he whispered back. "You show me anyone who thinks that, and I'll fight them." 

That did get a smile out of Athos, and Porthos grinned back in relief. They were still both feeling their way so much with this, and he supposed it was inevitable that they weren't always going to get it right first time. But at least they were trying, both seemingly willing to cut each other some slack.

After that they gave each other a little more breathing space. Athos slowly accepted that if Porthos wasn't always in the immediate vicinity it didn't mean he was losing interest. Porthos came to terms with the fact that Athos didn't necessarily want to go out and do stuff all the time, but would rather sit about the house writing - and that he was perfectly happy for Porthos to go and do things without him.

The added distance let them relax a little, and in doing so brought them closer than ever. The sex continued to improve on a nightly basis as their trust in each other deepened and inhibitions were gradually overcome, and by the final night in the cottage both were a little sad at the thought they had to go home the next day.

Porthos came out of the bathroom stark naked and climbed into bed next to Athos, snuggling up next to him and making him squeak.

"Shit! Your hands are cold."

"I know," Porthos grinned. "That's why I'm warming them up on you."

"Bastard." Athos wriggled closer nonetheless and gave him a kiss. "I should kick you out of bed."

"You won't though," Porthos laughed. "You want me. You're hot for me," he teased.

"Hotter than your fingers, certainly," Athos grumbled, but he was smiling.

"So." Porthos propped himself up on one elbow after they'd been kissing for a while, and regarded Athos interrogatively. "Tell me. What do I have to do to make it a ten out of ten?"

Athos gave a splutter of laughter, and Porthos poked him, grinning. "I'm serious. Tell me. There must be something you reckon I can improve on."

The previous night after much pestering on Porthos' part, Athos had declared him a nine, which had made Porthos both very happy and even more determined to improve. Athos was starting to wish he'd just awarded him tens from the start, but was somehow unable to be less than honest.

"I don't know," he laughed, shrugging. "It's hardly a science. Anyway, it's not a test. You don't have to have a perfect score. That doesn't mean it's not amazing. What about me anyway? I hate to think what scores you're giving me."

"Oh no, you're perfect," Porthos told him with apparent sincerity and Athos snorted.

"Okay _now_ I feel bad."

"Go on." Porthos looked beseechingly at him. "You must feel there's something I could do better? Or that I'm not doing, or I'm doing wrong?"

Athos sighed. He'd never realised Porthos was going to insist on taking this so seriously. 

"Okay," he said quietly. "If you really want to know?"

Porthos nodded. "I do. Whatever it is. Even if it's weird shit." He winked. "It's not weird shit is it?"

"No!" Athos gave another splutter of laughter and Porthos hugged him, nuzzling kisses onto his chest. 

"Tell me then."

"It's just - it maybe feels like you're holding back a little?" Athos ventured. "It's like you're concentrating so hard on making it good for me that you're not having fun yourself. Or, maybe that's the wrong way of putting it," he added hastily, seeing Porthos mournful look. "I don't mean you're not. Just that it sometimes seems like you're being too careful of me."

"I don't want to hurt you," Porthos confessed. "After - " he faltered, but Athos squeezed his hand, knowing what it was he didn't want to mention.

"But that's just it," Athos said. "Before - you hurt me because there was no prep, no foreplay."

"No lube," Porthos added dolefully, and Athos bit back a laugh.

"Precisely. And - and I wasn't exactly in a good place myself. But take all that out of the equation - do it properly - I suppose what I'm saying, the sex itself - the way you were, the force of it - well." He blushed. "I could go for some of that."

Porthos stared at him, trying to read his face, make sure he was sincere about what he was asking for.

"You mean that?" he asked. "Rough sex, that's what you want?"

"Yeah," said Athos softly. "I mean, maybe not all the time. But yeah."

Porthos kissed him then, knocking him back into the pillows and pushing his fingers into Athos' hair, kissing him hard and passionately until both of them were panting and getting stiffer by the second.

Porthos climbed on top of him and lay full length, kissing him again, rubbing slowly against him, pinning Athos down with the weight of his body. Athos writhed, giving breathy gasps of approval whenever Porthos relinquished his mouth, and bucking his hips impatiently against him.

Finally Porthos pulled back a little and looked down at him, breathing hard.

"Athos. Promise me, if you need me to stop, you'll say so. You'll tell me. If I hurt you, if it gets too much, anything. Promise me you won't let me hurt you, physically or not."

Athos nodded. "I promise," he said, then smiled slightly, and cradled Porthos' face in his hands. "Thank you."

Porthos kissed him on the nose and made Athos laugh.

"Stop being cute, and fuck me."

Porthos did as he was asked. He had to admit, Athos had been right. At the back of his mind there had always been the constant niggling fear that while he might not actually hurt Athos, he could still inadvertently stir up unpleasant memories of a night Athos would rather forget. 

Athos, though, for all his neuroses was more resilient than he'd feared and also a lot more willing to talk about it than Porthos had expected. 

Finding Porthos responsive to his initially hesitant attempts to discuss how he was feeling, Athos had been able to relax enough during their time in bed to not only guide Porthos in what he did and didn't like, but also eventually in what he was afraid of. This, contrary to what Porthos had assumed, was not that Porthos would hurt him but that Porthos would leave him, and being able to reassure each other on that score had gone a long way towards making what they were doing now possible.

Not that Porthos skimped on the foreplay tonight. He'd learned his lesson well in that regard, and by the time he was ready to go the whole way Athos was a begging, pleading puddle of frustrated desire. 

Porthos took delight in teasing him, rubbing his cock between the cheeks of his arse before rolling Athos onto his back and bending over to suck him slowly.

"Porthos, please," Athos groaned, half laughing. "If you don't get on with it I am dangerously close to just making a mess everywhere."

Grinning, Porthos finally conceded Athos was ready and pulled him down towards him in the bed. He slipped his hands under Athos' legs to lift him up a little and nudged closer until he could push gently inside him. He took it slowly, figuring there'd be plenty of time later to experiment with which parts Athos liked rough, but he didn't want to risk fucking it up from the start. 

Once he was all the way in, Porthos shifted position enough to be able to lean forward and take Athos into his arms, Athos' legs wrapped around him with his feet hooked one over the other to keep himself in place. 

"Okay?" Porthos checked, smiling against Athos' lips as he kissed him.

"Yeah," Athos breathed. "More than okay." Up to now Porthos had been as careful as ever and he suddenly wondered if Porthos would prefer not to be forceful with him, and if he should have made it clear that that was okay too. But then Porthos started to move inside him, and Athos lost most of the capacity for rational thought. 

The nights they'd had sex - and there had only been a couple where Athos hadn't wanted to - so far it had been very much a case of making love. Other than one night where Porthos had managed to fall off the bed entirely and left Athos laughing too hard to come, it had meant long, slow hours of exploring each other's bodies and finding new and exciting ways to please each other.

This though - this was different. This was fucking, and hot, shameless, filthy fucking at that. Porthos was suddenly thrusting into him with an unrestrained vigour that sent shocks of pleasure through Athos' body and left him gasping for breath. He threw his head back and clung on for the ride, letting Porthos use him and fill him and stretch him, the bed creaking under the force of his strokes. 

There was something primal about it, and Athos felt able to let go in a way he found harder during more measured sex. To be utterly swept away by the act, to reach a state where he didn't have to think any more, _couldn't_ think any more, was a revelation. 

All the while Porthos was fucking him he also kept holding Athos tightly in his arms and kissing him with a fired up hunger. He knew Athos craved the physical closeness from intimacy as much as the sex itself, and was determined that Athos would be able to feel how much he loved him as well as how much he wanted him. 

Being able to let go like this was a guilty thrill and Porthos took Athos at his word, slamming into him with rough thrusts that left him buzzing, fucking him harder and harder until Athos suddenly tensed in his arms and grabbed blindly at Porthos' shoulders.

"You okay?" Porthos found his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, slowing down a little. "You need me to - ?"

"Don't stop," Athos interrupted tightly. "Don't fucking stop."

Porthos gave a low laugh, guessing Athos was just near to orgasm and relieved that he hadn't overdone it.

"You asked for it," he growled, and redoubled his efforts. He was close himself, and when he felt Athos coming hard seconds later, he followed suit with a long wordless groan of triumph.

"Fuck. _Fuck_." It seemed to be the only word Athos was capable of producing and Porthos quickly gathered him into his arms, not even pausing to take the condom off.

"Good fuck?" he checked, and relaxed when Athos managed a nod. "Okay. Okay." Porthos kissed him and held him and let him recover in his own time, conscious that Athos had said how much he'd needed to be held, before.

After a while Athos looked up at him sheepishly. "Sorry," he muttered, flushing red and wishing he wasn't quite such a useless twat when it came to overwhelming sex.

Porthos shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry for," he murmured, and kissed him with a smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Athos swallowed, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Don't let me go yet?"

Porthos snuggled him tighter. "I'm never letting you go," he announced, and was pleased when Athos gave a huff of laughter. 

"You might have to eventually," Athos pointed out, nestling against him comfortably.

"Only temporarily," Porthos told him. "Any time I have to let you go it will only ever be a case of counting down until I can hold you again."

Athos smiled sleepily at him. "That's either really sweet or slightly weird. I'm not sure which."

Porthos sniggered. "Both?" 

"No, I'm going with sweet," Athos decided. He sat up a little, feeling calmer, and Porthos took the opportunity to clean himself up, having received most of Athos' load up his chest. 

"Sorry." Athos smirked. "I told you I was going to make a mess."

Porthos laughed, settling down again and pulling Athos back into his arms. "I forgive you." He smiled. "So, I'm not sure if I dare ask this, but how was it for you?"

"Incredible," Athos said sincerely. "Thank you, for every second. It was fucking amazing."

Porthos kissed him lazily, stretching out in the bed and sighing happily. "Do I finally get a ten then?"

"For that, you get an eleven," Athos told him, and Porthos laughed in surprise.

"Result."

"So what do I get?" Athos asked with a smile. "I hate to think."

"Twenty," said Porthos immediately, and Athos snorted.

"That's cheating."

"No it's not. You're perfect, and I love you."

"You're an idiot," Athos smiled back. "And I love you too."

\--

The following day they packed up and drove home, saying goodbye to the little cottage with reluctance but taking comfort from the fact they still had forever to spend together. For all that the specifics were undefined, their future unwinding into a nebulous haze, the knowledge that both of them wanted this was a warm glow inside. They could define it together, carve the very shape of the future into whatever they wanted it to be.

They'd discussed, previously and now again on the way home, whether Porthos should move straight in with Athos, but decided against it, at least for now. Keeping their own space seemed a sensible thing, and both agreed that at some future point they would look for a place together. Somewhere the hedgehog-gnome could have pride of place in the garden, somewhere with a study for Athos to write, somewhere with a bedroom that would take a bed so large that even Porthos couldn't fall out of it.

It was a dream of a shared future, and it was nice, but it was still a wrench when it came to saying goodbye at the door of Athos' flat. 

They held each other for a long time, and promised to see each other the following day. It was sensible, they agreed. One night apart would give them breathing space, let them chill out alone, sort out laundry, settle back into life at home.

By five that evening, a dark winter's night coming early from thick black clouds gathering overhead, Athos was staring at his phone and trying to pluck up the courage to call. It was stupid, he told himself, it shouldn't be difficult. It wasn't like Porthos was going to mind hearing from him.

But at the same time a voice in his head pointed out that it had only been four hours since he last saw him, and maybe Porthos would think he was a nuisance. It was ridiculous, missing someone this much. Athos had spent years for all intents and purposes living alone, and in a much bigger house. He didn't know why the flat should feel so echoing empty, or that he should feel so lonely.

His phone suddenly buzzed, and Athos jumped. He hardly dared hope, but it was, it was a text from Porthos, and Athos' heart leapt, thinking that maybe after all he was sitting in his own flat missing him just as much.

_How you doing? x_

Athos stared at the message for at least a minute before deciding on his answer.

_Missing you. x_

He pressed send and sat there waiting hopefully for a reply. Maybe Porthos would even call him, he thought. But the minutes ticked by and no text came, and Athos started to feel horribly sick, wondering if Porthos had been exasperated by his neediness. Should he just have said 'fine, how are you?' Had he been too self-centred? 

Athos curled up miserably in his chair, unable to take his eyes off his phone in case he missed a reply. Maybe Porthos was in the middle of cooking dinner, he told himself. Maybe he'd gone to the loo. Maybe he was watching tv and hadn't heard Athos' reply. Maybe it hadn't sent. It had only been - he checked the time - ten minutes. Jesus, was he really so fucked that he was unravelling over not getting an answer yet?

Another few minutes crawled by, and Athos slowly became resigned to the fact there wasn't going to be a reply. It didn't mean anything, he told himself. Porthos was still coming to see him tomorrow.

 _If he comes,_ said a treacherous voice in his head. _What if he's had enough of you? Can you blame him?_

Eighteen minutes. Athos was in the process of chewing off his last surviving fingernail when the doorbell rang.

Surprised, he got up to answer it, giving one last betrayed look at his phone as he went. Not for one second did it occur to him that it might be Porthos standing on his doorstep, and when he opened the door and saw him standing there, it was all he could do not to burst into tears.

Porthos' grin of welcome faded as he took in Athos' expression, and he shot forward over the threshold and took him into his arms.

"Athos? What is it, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." Sounding choked, Athos clung to him, realising that Porthos was soaking wet and it must be raining outside. He didn't care, he wound his arms around Porthos' wet coat and pressed his face into Porthos' neck. "Everything's right."

"You're shaking." Porthos kicked the door shut behind him and held Athos tightly. "Has someone upset you?" 

Athos shook his head. "No. No, it's just me being stupid. Sorry. I'm fine, just give me a second."

Porthos kissed his hair and rested his cheek against Athos' head. 

"I'm sorry I didn't reply to your text," he said quietly, and felt Athos flinch. Porthos winced, having had a horrible suspicion that this was what had upset him and feeling this confirmed it. "I went to get my coat out because it was pissing it down, and I was halfway here before I realised I'd left my phone on the table."

Athos swallowed. "It's okay," he mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" Porthos sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm a twat and I didn't think. I was just in such a rush to get here."

Athos took a steadying breath and pulled back. "Sorry," he managed. "Every time I think I'm a functioning adult I manage to prove myself wrong."

Porthos laughed, shedding his wet coat before wrapping Athos in his arms again and kissing him intently.

"For the record," Porthos said, after they'd kissed for so long they were breathless and slightly dizzy. "I was missing you too. If you couldn't tell. I mean, this wasn't just a mercy dash." He gave Athos a guilty smile. "I thought I could manage a whole night without you, but apparently I'm addicted." 

"Does that mean you're staying?" Athos asked with a hopeful smile, and Porthos nodded.

"If you want me to?" He bit his lip. "I don't want to impose myself on you. But on the other hand, if you say yes, it is entirely possible I have an overnight bag in the car."

Athos nodded slowly, and smiled up at him. 

"Welcome home," he said.

\--


End file.
